Of Faeries and Make Believe Heroes
by Manixa
Summary: Alfred and Arthur didn't part on good terms. Over the years, their ill feelings for each other only deepened. What happens when they are reunited at the prestigious World Academy? US/England, France/England, Germany/Italy, America/Japan, many others
1. Chapter 1

Of Faeries and Make-Believe Heroes

Chapter One

* * *

**This is actually an RP between myself and my amazing ukechan, valentinomentis. **

**Please enjoy and remember to review! We love feedback. **

**(And we don't own Axis Powers Hetalia, or the Hetalia Gakuen game. Although everything that can't isn't seen in the game is our own ideas. ^_^)  
**

* * *

Alfred looked up at the huge collection of buildings before him. The World Academy has sounded impressive when he had first heard of it--totally fit for a hero like himself--but he didn't imagine the architecture to be so exquisite! There was certainly nothing so grand like this at home.

And to think this was to be his school...and his home for the next three years! The thought of being so far from home was saddening, but at the same time it was like embarking on a grand adventure. He was so excited his hands were shaking. He shoved his fists into his pockets and walked inside the main building. He searched for what seemed like an eternity for the office. There, after conversing with the cute receptionist, he acquired a much needed school map that had routes to the most important places highlighted--the cafeteria, vending machines, bathrooms, and his classroom. On the back of this paper was a map of the whole campus, which was quite helpful, because without it, there was surely no way he'd ever be able to find his dorm or the sports grounds. (He had yet to venture to the dorms. Although it seemed like the most logical place to go to first, he had, as usual, arrived a little later than he had planned on. It was fine though, because his belongings had been shipped ahead of time and he was certain he'd overcome jetlag after consuming numerous energy drinks.)

Clutching the map tightly, Alfred left the office and walked down the hall, heading for his designated classroom. _Though I should stop by a vending machine first...I haven't eaten in an hour..._ Amending his plans, he walked in the opposite direction in search of snacks.

As he walked, he scanned the masses of students for anyone he might know. He knew the chances of this were quite slim. But! But! Given a week, he was certain everyone here would know him. After all, he was destined for great things (a Hero!), therefore well-known.

At one point he saw a familiar mass of blond hair go by in the opposite direction. But it couldn't have been....no, it couldn't have been who he thought it might have. And even if it was...Alfred sighed and stuffed his face with a sweet bun from the vending machine. He tried to vanquish his thoughts from his mind, but it didn't work. The thoughts got worse, the memories felt so fresh that his stomach churned. It didn't keep him from eating though. He decided he wouldn't let _that person_ to win, even if it all was just in his head.

After a moment, he regained his composure and headed for class. Because they hadn't spoken in years, Alfred didn't know where the other was. But if by some ironic coincidence that he was here, they were bound to meet sooner or later. And Arthur Kirkland would be in for a rather (un) pleasant surprise.

* * *

Arthur was behind schedule.

That _fool_ had to be so busy paying attention to _football_ that he paid no attention to the instructions given to him- and poor Arthur had ended up leading his old friend to a specific classroom while chatting all the way. Of course the fact that he lost track of time in spite of having a pocket watch, plus a wristwatch was _clearly not his fault_ but rather his friend's, and when he had noticed what time it was, he had to rush all the way to his classroom – which was in the opposite direction, near the America class' classroom.  
Bloody hell, the day couldn't have started any better, could it?

He had woken up with a slight headache, had managed to burn his breakfast – which was quite the surprise; he always cooked so well! – and now he had to run to class in fear of being late, all because of his friend, while trying to ignore the stupidly large amount of things he would have to do afterward. He felt utterly frustrated and buried in work, and he really just wanted to crawl into a hole with his faerie friends and hide until God knows how long.

It took him a while to reach his classroom and he was relieved that the class hadn't started yet; it would be a disgrace if the student council president was late to one of his classes with no apparent reason. He had to make himself look good – even if pretty much everyone seemed to hate him for some reason or another. Especially Antonio. Not that Arthur was fond of him, anyway.

But it was as he neared the America class that he spotted a familiar mass of dirty blond hair and the face it was attached to. He froze in his spot, as several things ran through his mind; what was he doing here? Why him, of all people? He wasn't even mistaking him for young Matthew, no.  
It was Alfred-fucking-F.-Jones.

It suddenly dawned on him that they could not be seen standing in the same hallway and his first reaction was to hide behind a large pillar, grabbing a random punk fashion magazine from his bag and opening it as if he was reading it – upside-down, too; Arthur had quite a talent for reading things upside-down when he was anxious and trying to hide for some reason or another.

"No, this- this _cannot_ be happening. No, no, no…" He kept muttering to one of his little supernatural friends who had suddenly appeared on his shoulder.

Feliciano was bored. Well, bored wasn't the right word for it- he simply didn't feel like sitting through one of his boring classes. He would much rather eat some pasta and listen to good music until it was time for siesta! But as it was, he was basically forced to attend those classes – who knows what Lovino or Ludwig would do if they knew young Feliciano was skipping his classes? Nothing good, that as much he knew.  
So he was walking to his class with a most distressed expression, until something caught his eye: Arthur was standing behind one of the large pillars in a most inconspicuous manner. The first thing he thought of, other than how much he wanted some pasta right then, was to approach him.  
"Ehh, England? Why are you standing there like that? Ve, it looks strange!"

The rambling Italian had caught Arthur off guard. He lowered the magazine enough to meet the boy's eyes and glared at him.  
"Shut up, you dolt! And get going, your class will begin soon!"

When he realized how loudly he had spoken, he suddenly looked around frantically, as if he expected to be jumped on by someone – someone other than Francis, that is.  
He didn't even notice as Feliciano began to whimper, and soon, to cry.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you!" He shouted, flailing his arms. It was quite a natural sight for most people who knew the Italian; he was a complete coward who preferred the good things of life over conflict.

England simply sighed, hiding his face once more behind the magazine. He was done for.

* * *

Francis opened the door that had 'EUROPE CLASS' in black lettering on the translucent window and sauntered in. He paused at the doorway so his fellow classmates could take a moment to re-recognize his superior beauty. Although it was most certainly impossible for them to forget someone so elegantly dressed, with such perfect golden tresses and an aesthetically pleasing face and physique as himself, there was a minute possibility that their memory could have slightly faded over the summer.

With a flashy toss of his perfectly bouncy hair, he took his seat in the middle of the classroom. The desk in front of his belonged to that_ tête__ de __rosbif__, _Arthur Kirkland. It wasn't often that Francis beat him to class, so thought of it as a personal victory. To his right sat Ludwig, who when he wasn't being dreadfully boring and brooding, liked to pretend he didn't fancy the pasta-addicted Feliciano who sat directly behind Francis. To his left was…some little Andorran child whose name he couldn't recall. Antonio sat on the other side of said person. Francis wished it wasn't so…he liked Antonio. Perhaps not all the time, but they both had flowers and passion in common, and that was enough at the moment for Francis to find at least an ally in him, if not friend. Oh how he'd love to sit by someone who didn't have giant eyebrows and poor tastes or constantly ate wursts!

As he got comfortable in his seat, Arthur walked into the room, clearly looking disgruntled. Francis wondered what was bothering him. It wasn't like he truly hated him. He was a pompous twit, yes, but he could be loads of fun as well. After the Englishman sat down, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Arthur and nuzzled his shoulder. "_Mon petit idiot_, this year a new class was added and right now there are only three students. _C'est __vrai__._ And to know you haven't hunted them down to force your _nourriture__ dégoûtante_ on them! _Ça je fais un choc!_ Are you ill, _petit_? Perhaps it is those eyebrows! No longer just aesthetically displeasing, but malignant! Fret not, _chéri_. I happen to have the best connections! We'll get those hideous mops waxed off your face and then you might actually stand a chance in getting laid! " All the while, he allowed his hands to roam to wherever they could reach.

"Oh shut your trap, you imbecile!" Arthur growled angrily at Francis and his less than acceptable behaviour. He was so used to the young man's advances, though that did not mean he liked it – or at least not in one of his bad days such as that one. He made a feeble attempt at slapping his hands away, but sadly, he knew that the Frenchman would just find another moment to molest him. Hopefully he would be mildly _decent_ throughout their first class.

He purposefully chose to ignore Francis' comments about his eyebrows and his sexual activity. The former was none of his business and as for the latter, well, neither - the most part, anyway.

He sighed as he watched a tearful Feliciano burst into the room. The first thing he did was to head over to Ludwig, whose mere presence was enough to make him wipe those tears from his face, even if he was still as upset.

"A-a-and I was so s-s-s-scared, Doitsu!" He prolonged the German's name in an overdramatic manner as he kept on spilling nonsense after nonsense about being scared and Arthur and magazines and pasta.

Arthur glanced over at Ludwig, but immediately looked away. He was in no mood for arguments.

Eventually, Feliciano just sat down and rested his head on the table, seemingly falling into a light slumber.

As soon as the class was dismissed, Arthur put his things way and stormed out the room in a less than pleasant disposition. If that bastard Francis dared to chase after him and molest him some more, he would murder him!

* * *

Ludwig sent an icy glare to the Englishman sitting diagonally from him. He let the picking on his Italian sidekick slide this once, but he committed the incident to his memory. If Arthur was smart he'd leave Feliciano alone. The Italian didn't seem to be hurt, as he went to his desk and fell asleep. Seeing that his little comrade was alright put him at ease. Although he wouldn't admit such a thing. Ever.

The day, as Ludwig has suspected, drug on miserably. The first day of a new semester was always like this. Rules, paperwork, syllabuses. A giant headache, more like. Once class was dismissed, he was relieved. After a much needed stretch, he shook Feliciano's shoulder. "Oi! Wake up."

Feliciano couldn't be happier with his class. He had arrived sad and tearful and had made a point to express it to his dear friend Ludwig – and possibly to Lovino as well. He had dozed off for just a few minutes and when the teacher reprimanded him, he nearly burst into tears again – but then, the teacher just patted him on the head and asked if he wanted some pasta. And what tasty pasta, that was! But then he noticed that there was a music playing and beautiful girls all around - and suddenly the clock chimed 3:00PM and it was siesta time! Naturally, his first instinct was to strip naked and lie down on one of those comfortable pillows on the back of the room. Ah, the school year was going to be great!

_Oi! Wake up._

"Ahhh!" Feliciano nearly jumped as he felt someone grabbing his shoulder. It was siesta time, why was someone interrupting him? He opened his eyes and looked around, finding himself in the boring classroom once again, with Ludwig's hand on his shoulder like he had tried to wake him up.  
He sighed in a distressed manner; it had been a dream! There was no way he would ever be able to do such things in class, was there? Oh, what a cruel world!  
"How long was I asleep?" He asked curiously.

Ludwig ruffled the brunette's hair. (It was ok, because they were now the only ones in the room.) "You slept most of the day." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I filled out your paperwork and such for you." Even if Feliciano had been awake, he probably would have drawn all over it or something anyway. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat. "Anyway. We have to meet Kiku. I can't ever tell what he's thinking, but I'm sure he won't be thrilled if we're late. Come on." He walked out of the room without waiting for the Italian to get his things together. He'd be at his heels like a terrier in moments anyway.

Feliciano closed his eyes and bit his lower lip so hard he almost bled; it was all he could do to try and suppress the shivers he felt all the way down his spine as Ludwig's hand rested on his hair – or rather, in that one hair in particular. He could only thank the gods that his friend didn't have a habit of touching it, or else they would end up in a quite awkward situation.  
Of course he should have been a smart young man and told his friend about his "little secret", but he couldn't really do it – what would happen if he suddenly told him what it felt like after it happening more than once? Ludwig would hate him and he didn't want to be hated, not by him!

"Eh, thank you!" Feliciano smiled when the blond told him that he had filled in his papers, too. At the same time he felt a bit guilty for making his friend work twice as hard... But Ludwig didn't really seem to mind; not half of the time, anyway. His eyes were still closed, and he heard him saying that they should meet up with Kiku. But the words didn't quite process in his mind for a while and when they did, Ludwig was already out of the room.  
He quickly put his things away and ran out of the classroom and after Ludwig. He had no qualms over grasping his friend's hand and humming a cheerful tune as they walked side-by-side; it was one of his habits, hopefully the German would be used to it by then.

Ludwig had gotten several metres away from the classroom before Feliciano caught up and grabbed his hand. He felt his cheeks burn instantly and did his best to hide the embarrassing feelings he felt right now. He really didn't mind all the affection the Italian gave him...it was just...he wasn't used to it and it made him uncomfortable quite frequently. He didn't mention this to Feliciano though. The Italian's wails grated on his nerves.

He walked with Feliciano to the storage closet where the Italian and Kiku held their unofficial manga club meetings. The room served a dual purpose. Since it was a storage closet, they could talk about their plans without much interruption. (The interruptions they did have were usually from Lovino trying to steal his brother away.)

Honda Kiku was sitting on a handcrafted cushion on the floor of the storage room. His classroom was closer so he usually beat the two Europeans there. In the spare moments of silence, he liked to contemplate things and meditate. When the other two arrived, he bowed slightly and greeted them with a polite 'good afternoon.'

"Good afternoon, Kiku!" Feliciano greeted merrily, waving his free hand for a bit before he pulled Ludwig into the room. He only let go of his hand when he found a good spot on the floor to sit down, cross-legged and barefoot. He looked up at the German and smiled warmly, expecting him to sit close by. Moments later, he looked down at his watch; perhaps he would still have time for a siesta!

"Ve, ve, what are we going to do today?" He inquired curiously, scratching his cheek. Well, Ludwig was here so the chances of them speaking about manga were slim – unless he had finally joined their club for real! Oh, it would be amazing if he did so; they could spend much more time together and share more of their tastes with Kiku.

Although… He had to wonder if big brother would like that. Feliciano didn't want to upset Lovino. But he didn't want to end his friendship with Ludwig, either… Perhaps if he saw how nice and friendly the German could be, in spite of his occasional outbursts, he would want to join them too and they could all be friends!

Feliciano leaned back, smiling in an absent-minded manner. For a moment he forgot about his surroundings and instead allowed his mind to wander off to the idea of his big brother and his best friend finally getting along.

Ludwig took a seat beside Feliciano and nodded a greeting to Kiku. "Today we need to start coming up with plans for taking over the school." The idea sounded strange, but the German had the need to conquer and destroy. "Roderich will easily give in and from there I can take out various classmates." Inevitably, he'd get enough power to overthrow Arthur and Francis--the latter would be a piece of cake--and then things would change around here!

Kiku nodded. "Yao and the others can be persuaded to see my way of things," he said, hinting that persuasion might be with force.

The two continued discussing possibly plans of action.

Feliciano merely stared at the two of them, having returned to the reality of the storage closet they were in once he heard the words plans and taking over.

He sighed in a lamenting manner; it seemed as if Ludwig was still bent on taking over the school. He had been at it for a long time now – and becoming friends with Kiku had only made it so that his plans were more than a mere dream. Not that Feliciano didn't like Kiku – he was his friend, of course! But when it was just Ludwig and the Italian, for some reason he couldn't understand, Ludwig never seemed actually be making plans. It made him wonder if he had some silly idea that it had to be the three of them to do things.

"Ve, you're not going to hurt Elizaveta-chan, are you?" He asked curiously, looking over at Ludwig. He didn't want the girl to be hurt; she was one of his oldest friends and had always been very nice to him. And when someone mentioned Roderich, he was instantly reminded of her.

He didn't say anything else; there wasn't much he could do, really. Lovino would never buy it if he asked him to join them, and all the other students could be so mean and scary it wasn't even funny!

Ludwig sipped on some green tea, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before he spoke again. The tea was alright as far as his tastes preferences went—he much preferred beet, but being at a school, such beverages were prohibited. This fact wouldn't stop him from bringing his drinks, had it not been for the pompous student council president. The jerk actually enforced regular inspections for illegal paraphernalia. Being a renowned disciplinarian, those caught were severely punished. And Ludwig couldn't take such chances, not if he wanted to succeed in his plans. So he went without beer—drinking it only during the select weekends the students were allowed to venture off the school grounds.

He turned to the Italian when he asked about Elizabeta. In all honesty, he had forgotten Feliciano was even there. He was so used to the Italian being loud and animated by one thing or the other that the elongated silence from him was enough for him to forget about him all together. Temporarily, anyway. The Italian was on his mind a lot more that he'd like to admit. He studied his friend for a moment. He didn't know what would happen to Elizabeta, but there was no reason to upset Feliciano. "She'll be fine," he reassured him, mentally adding, _as long as she follows Roderich's lead and caves easily_. He didn't see that happening though.

Kiku sipped his tea, still amazed it tasted so good even though it was prepared in a conventional way. He had always prepared his tea by boiling water, but since the storage room had no stove no anything else where he could properly boil water, he had to improvise. One day during a previous school year he had found a coffee maker in the storage room. Because he was one who liked to know vast amounts of knowledge about things, no matter how trivial, he knew the water in the coffee maker would get just as hot without the coffee grinds as with. (Really, anyone could have quite easily deduced this, but Kiku liked to think he came upon this idea logically and scientifically.) Of course, he was right. He added loose green tea leaves to the coffee pot after the water had heated. He had tried, out of curiosity, and Feliciano's suggestion, to put the tea leaves in the coffee filter, but the resulting tea was not satisfactory, in his opinion.

He now watched the German and the Italian converse. He liked both of them—their alliance was beneficial to him and he had learned a lot from spending time with them, but he still couldn't figure out Ludwig's friendship with Feliciano. Or why Feliciano was even included in this. The boy was nice. But that was it—nice. He wasn't ruthless, he wasn't brave, and he didn't seem to have any motivation to conquer the school like they did. Feliciano just wanted to be by Ludwig's side. Perhaps that was it. _I wonder what it is like to have such a relationship with another…_ Until he as addressed again, he sat in silence and mused over this.

* * *

Alfred found his classroom with relative ease. He stood in front of the door, pumped up and excited—no thanks to the six energy drinks he chugged this morning. He was going to in there and show everyone his awesomeness! With a dramatic opening of the door, he walked into the room. "Yo! My name is Alfred F Jones! I'm a he—" He looked around, easily overlooking another blond and a boy wearing a poncho and sombrero over his uniform. "…ro. What the hell? There's no one in here!"

With a sigh he took a seat in an empty desk and rested his feet on the legs of the desk in front of him. This…this totally blew. How was he supposed to show how much of a hero he was when there was no other classmate to show his amazingness to? He spaced out as the teacher called roll.

"Pedro Hernandez?"

"_Aquí_."

"Alfred Jones?"

Alfred looked up and smiled. "You can call me 'Hero.'"

The teacher made no acknowledgment of the comment and continued. "Matthew Williams?" She didn't wait for the boy to reply before she sat the paper down and looked at them with mild disinterest. "This is North America class. Take a look around you. These are the same people you will see every day for the next three years. Before today's lesson begins, a class representative needs to chosen. They will be in charge of various things involving this class, as well as the student council—"

_That sounds like a hero's job!_ "I'll do it!" Alfred said abruptly, jumping to his feet.

"...Alright…" She rolled her eyes. "Go to the student council room after class."

He nodded happily and sat in his seat. He was so excited now! Then he looked at the clock and his heart dropped…another four hours until lunch!

* * *

**(If you didn't guess Pedro is our Mexico until there's an official one. xD)**


	2. Chapter 2

Of Faeries and Make-Believe Heroes

Chapter Two

* * *

Matthew Williams had been quick to find his designated classroom. He was very happy to be in this new school, even though no one seemed to acknowledge him. He didn't mind, however; people would notice him with time and he would make lots of friends. He was hoping to stay out of fights, too; he hated that sort of thing.  
He had been the first to get to his classroom. It was so big! He wondered how many more people would be in his class.  
However, as time went by, only two more people joined him – and none of them seemed to notice him, nor did the teacher. He merely sighed.

The class was over surprisingly quick. They now had a class representative – although Matthew could have sworn he had raised his hand _before_ this Alfred person. Perhaps other people would try to make them feel welcomed. He hoped so.  
As they were allowed to leave the room, Matthew calmly stepped out into the hallway, muttering a soft "_Mon__ dieu__…_" It seemed like he would have to work much harder to have other people's attention.

* * *

Class was torture! Alfred couldn't express how relieved he was to be finally out of class. The time between class and lunch was torture. And there wasn't even a designated snack time! What kind of cruel, cruel world was he living in?! He immediately found a vending machine and devoured a bag of barbecue flavoured potato chips.

With enough food in his stomach to last him perhaps another hour, he headed for the student council room as he was directed. He wasn't really sure what the point was for going. Maybe if he was lucky, it would be like a welcoming party with lots of cookies and doughnuts. And if it wasn't…hopefully it wouldn't be long. Long things were boring (naturally, not always…), and he hated boring.

When he arrived to the student council room, he didn't know what to think. The room…was empty. And it wasn't even him overlooking unimportant people! "Perhaps…I'm early," he murmured. Or that teacher had tricked him. Tricking him…a hero! That would make her the villain. That wasn't good…he didn't want to have his own enemy as his teacher…she might make him fail! With an epic wail of 'NOOOOOOO!' he dramatically fell back on a desk. Finding it unexpectedly comfortable, he decided he'd wait a little bit to see if anyone showed up.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Francis wondered what was eating at the Englishman. Perhaps it was that he had finally figured out how much he terribly sucked at everything? If only that was the case! He would figure it out though, most certainly.

Francis followed Arthur out of the classroom. He wasn't sure why Arthur was in such a foul mood, but out of love he really did let him off easy today. Naturally, this fact didn't get past Arthur's absurdly thick eyebrows, much less his skull. "_Hé__, __hé__,_ Arthur, where are you off to in such a hurry?" Not getting a response in a timely manner in his opinion, Francis grabbed a hold of a lock of Arthur's unruly hair and tugged. "You do know that the Student Council room is this way, _non_?" He asked, indicating the opposite direction in which he was heading. "Perhaps the duties of the president have been too stressful for you and you wish to step down~? I would gladly take your place, _ami_. I know I'd be a better president than you anyway. After all, I'm beautiful and you…have oversized eyebrows that don't match the hair on your head." In all seriousness, he continued. "It would be very un-presidential for you not to come. It may not be an official meeting, but we should go meet our new plaything, _oui_~ ?" He pulled Arthur backward so the Englishman's back pressed against his chest and held him.

Oh no, he didn't.  
Arthur was in no mood for Francis's antics – if the blighter wanted to molest someone, he could very well go after those new students, or possibly Feliciano. So why did the Frenchman insist in following him around? He decided to play a deaf ear on him, sighing exasperatedly when he didn't shut up. He didn't expect him to grab his hair, however, and couldn't help but to let out a rather high-pitched scream – the manliest manner possible, of course!

"What in the bloody hell!" He glared at Francis, his hands curling into fists, his knuckles becoming white in an alarming rate. "You leave my eyebrows alone, you Nancy-boy! You lack all the seriousness of a Student Council president! Like hell I'd let you take _my_ rightful place!"

But as per usual, no matter how hard tried, he was unable to escape the Frenchman's grasp and he quickly found himself being pushed in the opposite direction in a less than appropriate manner. He sighed in defeat; for once, Francis was right. He had to go to that meeting and see who the new class representative – or plaything, as Francis would prefer to call him - was.

But as they finally approached the classroom, they were graced with a scream of some sort. Arthur frowned – and no, of course his eyebrows didn't _completely_ cover his eyes. Or at least he'd like to think they didn't. That sounded like something Francis would say. Why should he care about something _Francis_ would say? Why was he asking himself those silly questions, anyway? For all he knew, someone might be in danger! Perhaps there was a murderer at the Academy and they were hearing the cries of his (or her) first victim!  
"Did you hear that?"

"Yes…I heard it." The Frenchman didn't even hesitate. Upon hearing the scream, he unhanded Arthur and gracefully (as always!) ran into the room. After all, something terrible could be happening to a beautiful girl! If he was the one to rescue her, he'd automatically get pillaging rights. (Although, he's probably plunder her vital regions anyway. )

Upon opening the door and bounding in, Francis looked around and saw no one. Well, aside from some idiot lying on a desk. "_Mon __dieu_…" He muttered and shook his head. "You…were you the one screaming like an idiot?"

Alfred sat up and looked up at the person who had just entered the room. "No, no, I didn't scream like an idiot. That was a hero's epic yell. Because I'm a hero! Who are you, anyway?"

Francis's eye twitched. He could already tell that this person, whoever he was (he was most definitely not a hero!) would cause some problems. Of course, he could always take him under his wing and coerce him into causing problems for Arthur. It would serve the buffoon right. Who did he think he was, ignoring his advances? The Brit should feel honoured! "I am Francis Bonnefoy, Student Council Vice President, Europe Class, Year Three." He paused a moment, for the other looked like he didn't understand a word he had spoken. "Might I ask who you are?"

Alfred's vacant expression became animated instantly. "I'm Alfred F. Jones! A-K-A Hero! I'm my class's representative."

_So this was the noob..._ Francis pulled a roster which had all the student council and class representative names written from the shelf and wrote Alfred's name in it. "You would be from the North America class, _oui_?"

"It's really just America class," Alfred replied. Mexico and Canada were practically American territories, anyway.

"…I see. We had you come today so we could meet you before the first official meeting—which is this Thursday, by the way. As in 'we' I mean myself and the president…" Francis called out into the hallway. "Arthur, _chéri__, _won't you come in here to meet our new plaything~?"

Alfred's eyes widened. He wasn't sure what bothered him more—being called a plaything…or the student council president having the same name as _him_.

* * *

The Englishman sighed softy in relief as Francis finally let go of him- and if for a moment there he had not been so distracted thinking about how nice it was to have his personal space back, he would have ran after the other immediately and see what was going on. As it was, however, he was left standing like a scarecrow in that hallway for a bit too long before he finally remembered what was going on in the first place and that made his way into the room – and just in time, as well! Francis was calling for him – although he'd rather if the Frenchman dropped that damned _chéri_ and whatever other adjective the French language had to offer.

He stepped into the room, expecting to see someone who had gotten hurt.  
The sight he was greeted with, however, made his stomach churn.  
Sitting there, as if claiming his bloody throne, was Alfred.  
Alfred. Fucking. F. Jones.

He suddenly felt a whole turmoil of emotions which settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.  
What was _he_ doing in the Student Council room? _His_ room?  
He couldn't possibly be the representative for the North America class, could he?  
No, clearly this was a mistake! Perhaps the new representative and fallen ill and he had just stopped by to inform them.

Arthur still couldn't quite believe what was going on and couldn't help but to think up several excuses to convince himself that he would not have to put up with Alfred – who did he think he was, really, showing up all of a sudden and acting like he was _all that_.  
Arthur would not stand for this!

He took in a deep breath, making his best effort to keep himself from suddenly reacting violently – there was no reason to behave like that. It would only make him look like the villain… Or more so than he already seemed to look like.

He also made his best effort to keep the tears from showing up at the corners of his eyes – it was always like this now; even the memory of Alfred F. Jones was enough to make him feel like this. He could be ever so angry, kick, scream, and break his teacups… But he always ended up crying in the end. And it wasn't for the broken teacups.

"Hello." He muttered quite grudgingly, shifting his weight from one foot to another.  
They would have to get this done and over with quickly; hopefully Francis had no intentions to drag it for hours on end.

Francis watched Arthur questionably. Over the years, he had gotten good at being able to read the Englishman's expressions, and he clearly wasn't happy to see this Alfred person. Was it that he could already tell he was an idiot? Or perhaps he already knew him? He frowned slightly then turned back to Alfred. "That's Arthur. Anyway~! We have coffee and tea, as well as some pastries. So why don't you sit down and tell us about yourself." As if on cue, one of Francis's lackeys brought in a tray of pastries and a kettle of tea and pot of coffee, and quickly retreated.

Alfred was in shock in seeing Arthur. The emotions from earlier emerged again. Anger. Hurt. He pushed them aside and kept his face as normal and cheerful looking as ever. Arthur wouldn't acknowledge him, so neither would he. "Nice to meet you," he replied then turned his attention to Francis, who at the moment, seemed like the safer person to converse with. "That sounds excellent!" He sat down at the table that the food and drinks had been served on. Purposely he chose coffee and an éclair rather than the tea and scones. After pouring copious amounts of sugar and cream into his coffee he sipped it and took a huge bite out of the éclair. "Ohh! This is _soooo_ delicious!" He said it rather exaggeratedly to annoy Arthur, but indeed, it was delicious.

* * *

_Nice to meet you,_  
Arthur merely nodded at that, and unlike Francis made no effort to move away from his spot by the door. Instead, he lowered his head and stood there, looking down at his feet and trying to bottle up all those emotions he was feeling. He wouldn't be able to stand it. No.

He hated how his past was coming back to haunt him – what had he done so wrong to deserve such a punishment? Perhaps he should have told Francis about it. He should have told him how Alfred was one of the new students and he should have told him what the young man was like. He should have told him a bit more about himself and what had happened with the two of them. Francis would have understood, regardless of how many eyebrow jokes he would throw in. Francis wasn't insensitive. He should have kicked his pride around the curb and said something. Then he would know and perhaps none of this would be happening.

Arthur allowed himself to glance over at the two as they took a seat at the table with the food on it, seemingly happy with each other's company – he briefly wondered if Francis was going to chase after Alfred. No- he wondered if Francis would choose Alfred's company over his own. Was he going to forget his friend? He hoped not. He didn't want to be forgotten. He only had one more friend, maybe two of he could count with Peter. Alas, his friend was usually too busy bickering with Antonio and trying to prove that _no_ he was 'not Spanish now shut up', and Peter, well… He had his own friends; he didn't want to get in the way and make another stupid mistake.

_Ohh! This is soooo delicious!_  
He swallowed dryly. He wasn't even look at them, nor did he have to if he wanted to know what was going on; Alfred was already messing with him at it hadn't been five minutes since they saw each other. He felt himself tense, and if his hands weren't shaking then he was going mad because he really felt like they were. Not only that, but the tears were threatening to roll down his cheeks and this time he wasn't sure he would be able to hold them.

The Englishman could only hope that this was a nightmare. A big, bad nightmare caused by all of his stress – and hopefully Peter would wake him up and request that he made breakfast do that they could go to school together..  
He hoped this was all a nightmare and Alfred wasn't really there to begin with.

Francis looked up over at Arthur, who was clearly in a worse state than before. This...This person must have been the cause of all of Arthur's problems today...Francis couldn't figure out how such an idiot could upset his seemingly invincible friend. Out of the graciousness of his loving heart, Francis decided to end things. "It was nice meeting you. We'll be in touch as far as your representative responsibilities go. Our official meeting will be this Thursday."

Alfred was relieved when Francis decided to end the conversation. He was doing his very best to ignore his feelings, but he could feel his façade slipping. He finished up his coffee quickly. "I need to go anyway...I still have to find my dorm room..." He stood and strapped his bag over his shoulder, again clutching the map from that morning.

Francis was going to let him go just then, but the comment about the dorm caught his curiosity. Unlike the classrooms, the dorms weren't set up by location. Rather, students of different geographical locations were mixed up. Francis, for example, shared a dorm room with Wang Yao. "Your dorm? What's your room number?"

Unlike most people, Alfred wasn't fazed by the Frenchmen asking him what room he was staying in. This was most likely because he was oblivious to Francis's reputation. "Um...Room 14...It's on the second floor."

Francis nodded in acknowledgment without betraying his thoughts. He glanced quickly to Arthur to see if he heard, but he said nothing yet. "I see. Well! _A __bientôt_!" He waved the American off. He noted that Alfred retreated rather quickly. Perhaps he was upset as Arthur was. "...Are you going to be alright, _ami_?" He looked at his friend in concern. They both knew that room fourteen was directly across from thirteen...Arthur's.

* * *

Arthur couldn't have been more relieved that Francis hadn't decided to make some silly questionnaire involving more than just what they would need to know of Alfred regarding his future responsibilities – not that Arthur needed to know much more. He knew more than enough already.

He could sense that Alfred wasn't pleased to see him, either – but that was only obvious; they hadn't exactly parted in the best of terms. He felt like his heart in his throat, a feeling which would not pass until hours later. He just wanted to get the bloody hell out of that room, but thankfully, Alfred decided to do the same thing first.  
But Francis's curiosity got ahead of him and he couldn't help but to ask about the boy's dorm – in any other situation, Arthur would have scolded him, but he had a feeling this had nothing to do with the Frenchman's risqué business .

Arthur nearly choked, but made his best efforts to stay in that same standing position and as quiet as possible.  
He would have to see Alfred every day for the rest of his school year.  
He would have to listen to Alfred because they all knew the walls weren't that thick and one day he would eventually open his door only to find Alfred at his doorstep - and things would not go very well from there.  
Arthur said nothing when Alfred left, but finally sighed in relief and ended up leaning against the wall. He was still looking down, though; his eyes stung and his face was very warm. He looked all but presentable.  
He was silent for a while after Francis had asked that last question – he refused to speak until he was sure he could do it without his voice cracking.

"'m fine." He grunted. He knew Francis wouldn't let this slip easily. If anything, Arthur would end up telling him how he and Alfred knew each other and what he KNEW was going to happen that year.

"Let's just go."

But all in all, he was hoping it wouldn't get to that.

Francis studied his friend for a long moment after Alfred left the room. He walked over and reached his hand touch Arthur's shoulder...but his hand froze in a hovering position. The Englishman didn't like to be touched. Much less when he was upset. He wasn't sure what he could do to comfort him, but the least he could do was to keep his distance from him. Physically, at least. He was a little irritated that Arthur hadn't said anything about this beforehand. He was logical enough to know anger wouldn't fix things though.

"Alright," he said, complying with Arthur's request to leave. He grabbed his bag—and Arthur's. The _salaud_ had better not forget all the kindness he was showing him just now! If anyone saw, his reputation would most definitely be ruined. "_Viens__, Petit_," he said as he led Arthur out of the room. He walked with him down the now empty halls toward an exit of the building—fresh air would do the Englishman some good. He allowed him a few moments of silence to collect himself before he spoke. "What was all of that about?"

* * *

Alfred didn't remember leaving the student council room. He didn't remember leaving the main building, trekking across the school grounds in a fury, or tripping on the stairs as he made his way to the second floor of the boys' dormitory. Yet here he was, standing in front of room fourteen, his shoes stained green from the grass, and blood seeping through the fabric of his khakis at the knee. It was all that damn Arthur's fault! Why did he have to be here? Why did….Why did he have to hurt like this? It wasn't his fault things ended up this way! If…If Arthur hasn't been so…like himself, he wouldn't be feeling this way. If only…If only the years of separation dulled the vivid emotions in which the Englishman was concerned.

"…Too many ifs," he grumbled to himself. The past couldn't be changed. As far as the future went…well, it could only get much better, or much, much worse. Alfred hoped that it wouldn't be the latter. He could get over seeing Arthur at the student council meetings. It's not like they were everyday…were they? He hadn't thought to ask. Maybe after they got used to seeing each other daily, things would get better. Maybe…Then he could…He could do what? Ask for forgiveness? He didn't regret his decisions. The words he said…nothing. No regrets! He shook his head fervently. Years and years later, he was still trying to convince himself this. The thoughts still lingered in his mind…What would it have been like if he hadn't…? Was it all bound to end badly anyway? Or had there been a chance for things to remain pleasant?

These never-ending thoughts rampaged though Alfred's mind to the point where he wanted to scream, break something, and slump to the floor and cry. But…Heroes didn't cry, did they? Surely they didn't cry…especially over the past. Did they? He didn't know. Perhaps America's ideals for a hero, his ideals, were skewed…He really, really didn't know…but he didn't want to cry! Not over that sonuva…_Get a grip_. He commanded himself. He didn't need some random person walking into the hall and see him in this decrepit state.

He opened the door to room fourteen. He quickly noticed the room was divided as he walked in. To the left of the room, the room was decorated in a clearly Asian style. He didn't know what kind of Asian; it was all the same to him. Bamboo scrolls hung from the walls, on them were weird yet delicate lines of black ink. Pretty, in a way. Did it actually say something? That half of the room was extremely tidy—it wasn't cluttered, nor did it have a speck of dust. On the desk laid an assortment of brushes, though different from the ones Alfred had grown up using in art class. A bamboo plant basked in the depleting sunlight draining into the window. He also saw a collection of books on the shelf by the desk. All of them were in an unreadable script. _Oh geez_… He felt himself panic. It was really the perfect emotion to add to the rest of the ones he was feeling now. _I hope to God that this person speaks English. _

The other side of the room, his side, was completely devoid of personality. His luggage was stacked in the corner, and looked undisturbed. The walls were bare, the desk empty…completely boring. It wasn't surprising though. He sighted and lay on the bed. At least the sheets and blankets were clean. He really ought to unpack his things…but he didn't have the energy to do it now.


	3. Chapter 3

Of Faeries and Make-Believe Heroes

Chapter Three

* * *

"Great!"

Feliciano smiled happily upon hearing Ludwig's response. He really didn't want Elizaveta to get hurt, if a fight were to come up. He knew her since he was just a little boy - after his grandpa passed away, he practically grew up with her, and some others such as Roderich. She was always very nice to him, even though she could be a bit scary sometimes.

He began to tune out, finding that this newly-acquired train of thoughts was much more interesting than the matter at hand. He began to think of his grandfather and all the things he taught him. He also remembered his relationship with everyone he would eventually go to school with – Elizaveta, Roderich, and even Romano. Well, the latter was his _brother_ and he couldn't exactly forget him, but… they hadn't come in contact all that much before Grandpa's death – and even afterwards, they were never exactly on the best of terms.

He also remembered one other face, one he could never forget. He was just a child then, but those little games of was a part of never really left his mind. A petite little blond, with fair skin, bright blue eyes and such a strong personality, even for a child; Feliciano had been scared of him at first, but it was a tragedy for him when the boy left, never to return.

He glanced over at his friends. Come to think of it, it was funny: he seemed to have an affinity for getting along with blond, blue-eyed boys.

He was happy to have Ludwig, now. He didn't pick on him like others did; Feliciano didn't like to fight, and even though Ludwig could be very stern and demanding and his cooking wasn't so good – or not as much as Feliciano's, who made such yummy pasta! -, he respected the Italian and would defend him whenever necessary. At first they were a bit at odds and Feliciano wondered if Ludwig simply saw him as a burden; but as he got to know him better, he realized that it couldn't be it. After all, with his personality and way of acting he would have said something already – that as much Feliciano knew.

Soon enough, the Italian returned to the real world and finally took a sip from his cup of tea; Kiku always made really good tea. Arthur would surely like it – if he wasn't so busy being mean to everyone.

"This is really good, Kiku!" He exclaimed merrily, taking a few more sips. Moments afterwards, however, he was once again leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes as if he were out in the sun, daydreaming. The other two would probably keep making plans – and as far as that was concerned, Feliciano never had much to say.

He would wait until they spoke to him; that is, if he didn't doze off first – it was almost time for siesta.

* * *

Ludwig smiled at Feliciano. At least, as close to a smile as he was capable of. He patted his head and finished his tea. He continued talking to Kiku about their plans for another thirty minutes or so. When they finished, he bid his farewell greetings and took Feliciano outside so he could get rid of his excess energy.

* * *

As the meeting reached its finale, they bid each other farewell and Feliciano, after putting on his shoes, went outside with Ludwig – more accurately, he practically skipped all the way outside, humming the same merry tune as when they had left their classroom. He had fallen asleep before it was time for siesta and had slept through a part of it as well; now he couldn't fall asleep again even if he tried – well, he could, but a part of him didn't want to.

"Ve~ Ludwig, what do you want to do now?" He asked curiously. He smiled up at his friend, although his eyes were closed. He really liked spending his time with him… And hugging him… And sneaking into his bed whenever he had a bad dream and couldn't sleep… And all those other things friends were supposed to do in each other's company!

He was really glad to have him as a friend.

But before Feliciano had the time to say anything else, or even before Ludwig could answer, a voice cut them off.

"_Chigiiii_--- Brother!" The owner of said voice decided to unceremoniously fall from a branch of a nearby tree; it was Lovino Vargas, Feliciano's brother. He looked angry, but then again, when did he not? He glared at the younger Italian as if he had done something very bad and proceeded to point an accusing finger at Ludwig.

"_What the fuck_ are you still doing with this potato bastard?" He demanded angrily. Lovino absolutely hated seeing the boy with that, that… that macho! (Mostly because he hated the German, and not as much because of Feliciano himself.) His face was beet red; he looked like a tomato, as Antonio usually liked to remind him – but that was beyond the point now!

"C'mon! I don't want you to be seen with him!" He grasped his brother's wrist tightly in an attempt to pull him away from Ludwig and closer to himself.

Feliciano was so surprised by his brother's sudden appearance and accusation, that the first thing he did was wail. When his brother got a hold of him, _then_ began to flail his arms, shouting for Ludwig to help him and for Lovino to let him go, in a mix of English and Italian.

"_Dio_, Feliciano! _Sta' zitto_!" Lovino snapped, still trying his best to drag Feliciano away from the blond. Now, he didn't like his brother _that_ much – but he couldn't stand the boy's association with Ludwig.

"_Ma Frattello_!" Complained Feliciano, still trying to break free, but to no avail.

* * *

Ludwig took a deep breath of fresh air. It was such a nice day, which was always great after a long day of being cooped up inside. He was about to suggest that they play a game of futbol. Given it was only the two of them and Ludwig was a far superior athlete, Ludwig knew Feliciano loved the game, and they had always enjoyed it in the past.

Just as he had opened his mouth, Feliciano's insolent older brother, Lovino appeared. Ludwig really just wished the boy would be nice. And not hit him. And leave Feliciano alone. Or at least get along with him and not make him cry, like he was now. _Honestly…this guy…_ There wasn't anything with potatoes for crying out loud! There was no point in arguing with Lovino, though. He could be quite belligerent.

Not in the mood for a fight, or at least with Lovino since it would upset Feliciano, Ludwig formulated a plan. It was playing dirty, perhaps, but it didn't matter at the moment. He walked closer to where the Italian twins were. "Hey, Lovino…Isn't that Francis?" He indicated to an empty space behind the Italian, feeding off Lovino's perpetual fear of the Frenchman.

* * *

While Lovino's attention was diverted, he grabbed Feliciano and hoisted him over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and walked away.

"_Vieni_, Feliciano—"  
_Hey, Lovino…Isn't that Francis?_

If looks could kill, Ludwig would have died some thirty times just then; Lovino's stare was full of some murderous rage saved only for the German. How dare he direct- _what_!?  
_Francis!!_

Lovino shrieked as the Frenchman's name finally processed in his mind, and he immediately spun around, expecting to see that _faccia di stronzo_ standing right behind him, ready to pester him. However, he found no promiscuous jackass, but rather, a pretty afternoon scenery; it took him a few moments to process the whole thing, but when he realized that he had shamelessly lied to, he turned in the direction of his brother and his so-called "friend", only to find that they had left him standing there by himself and were walking – or rather, Ludwig was walking whilst carrying Feliciano over his shoulder – away already!

"Chigiii---! God damn you, potato bastard!" Lovino angrily shook his fist in the air for a while, but soon decided to chase after them and get revenge for what had happened just then… Unfortunately, he had been so blinded by his fit of rage that he did not see that _glaringly obvious_ rock right there in front of his foot and ended up tripping and falling face-first on the grass. He lay like that for a moment, until he finally managed to lift his head up; he spat some bits of grass from his mouth and saw that the German and his stupid brother were too far from him to chase after them again. He cursed the tall blonde repeatedly and eventually managed to stand up. He would go and find Antonio; he would then proceed to complain to Antonio.  
… Poor Antonio.

* * *

Feliciano could only wail like a child and beg for his brother to let go of him – and he eventually did. But it was so sudden, so unexpected, that Feliciano ended losing his balance up stumbling back a couple of steps; luckily, Ludwig was there to catch him. And pick him up the same way he had done so many times before – which was really something that Feliciano liked, for some odd, twisted reason. Perhaps he shouldn't have kept himself entertained with those magazines that Ludwig kept in his room…

He eventually looked over, only to find his brother tripping and painfully hitting the ground.

"Ahh, _fratello_!" He stretched an arm in the older Italian's direction, but when he finally looked up, they were already too far away and he ended up running off in a different direction. He sighed, eventually dropping his arm. It was worthless; Lovino would never get along with him, as long as Ludwig was around. He wanted to be friends with his brother – but he wasn't about to abandon _his_ Ludwig for him.  
Did he just refer to the German as _his_?

"Ve~ Were are we heading, Ludwig?"

Ludwig walked a far enough distance away that he knew the lazy Italian wouldn't bother following. He sighed and set Feliciano down and rolled his shoulders. Carrying him had never really bothered him before, so perhaps his muscles were tense from the stress of the day…or Feliciano had really put on a few kilos. "We're going right here. Get your ball out of your bag. I was thinking we could play a little futbol for a little bit." There was no way he'd let Lovino ruin things for him. So while he waited for the younger Italian to get out the ball he knew the Italian carried in his bag along with pasta, he stretched.

* * *

Kiku thanked Feliciano for the compliment and finished his conversation with Ludwig. When the two Europeans left, he too left. Instead of heading for the recreation grounds, he headed for the dorms. Most students spent their free time after class either with their clubs or outside, so this time was always a good opportunity for him to practice his fine arts.

Kiku walked into the dormitory and walked to his room. He was alarmed when he arrived to his door—it was ajar. Worried he had been robbed and perhaps the thief was still in the room, he opened the door slowly and crept in. However, none of his belongings were disturbed, much to his relief. There was a blond lying on the bed on the opposite side of the room. _Ah. My new roommate_. Seeing the other appeared to be asleep, Kiku sat as his desk and silently practiced his calligraphy by writing an old haiku on a sheet of rice paper.

桜花

ちりぬる風の

名残には

水なき空に

波ぞたちける

Alfred was almost asleep when he heard someone enter the room. It was clear that the person, presumably his roommate, didn't want to disturb him, as he had remained silent and began writing something with a paintbrush. Alfred sat up on his bed and watched him. Despite everything that had happened today, his insatiable sense of curiosity hadn't died a bit.

He got up and walked to the other side of the room and stood behind his roommate, watching the other's hand make the brush create elaborate lines on the paper. "What does that say?"

The other was clearly surprised by Alfred's sudden words, and no less his sudden appearance centimetres behind him—he had physically jumped and dropped his paintbrush, causing black ink to swell into an unsightly black blob in the middle of the page. He struggled for words as he mentally translated the poem before slowly reciting it.

"_The cherry blossoms_

_linger in the wind's wide wake_

_where they were scattered,_

_dancing in circles and waves_

_across a waterless sky_."

"I don't get it," Alfred announced after a moment of silence after the poem's completion. He never understood figurative language anyway. (Read the atmosphere? What's that?) He smiled carelessly and held his hand out to his roommate, despite the position they were being awkward for handshaking. "I'm Alfred F. Jones!"

"....Pleased to meet you. I am Honda Kiku," Kiku replied as he stood and bowed. He studied the person before him…this Aru…Aru…how did he say his name? Kiku's English was comparable to the students who spoke it as a first language, but he still had difficulty with names. They were all different and sounded odd. In the meantime, he would avoid using his roommate's name until he was sure he could say it correctly. There was no sense in embarrassing himself.

"Hand-do Cuckoo? Is that how you say your name?" Alfred asked. Kiku was amazed of how much shame this person didn't have. Shouldn't he be mortified that he so carelessly said his name wrong?

"Honda Kiku," Kiku replied, pronouncing his name slowly and precisely. He watched the blond mumble the name over and over for a moment. Then he noticed a dark stain on the other's khakis. "Your leg is bleeding."

"Huh?" Alfred looked down and saw the stain. "Oh yeah…I fell earlier," he said dismissively.

"Shouldn't you clean your wound? It'll get infected otherwise." Kiku's mother had always licked her finger then dabbed his wounds with it when he was a child. Only upon leaving his homeland did he find out that the practice wasn't normal for Westerners and was considered quite unsanitary.

"…Yeah, I guess so." Alfred walked to his side of the room and took his pants off and sat on the bed, examining his wound. It was a nice little cut—he wouldn't need stitches, but he'd most definitely have to watch it. Perhaps it was odd, but it was only until the recent years that Alfred took care of his 'boo-boos.' In his mind's eye, he recalled the old days…regardless of whether it had splinters stuck in his hands from climbing up on the old woodshed that was wasn't supposed to but did anyway…or skinned up both his elbows and knees from learning how to ride a bicycle without training wheels…he had always gone to the same person in tears. And was always comforted by a soothing smile. Deft fingers treated and bandaged his boo-boos. Then a pat on his head that made his heart soar and tears dry.

_Why…Why remember that of all things?_ He wondered, and looked away from his knee to the orange fabric of his boxers that had spots darker than the rest of the fabric. Wet. Was the roof leaking? Wait…it wasn't raining outside. Instinctively, his hand went to his cheeks, and was alarmed to find them wet. He was crying.

Kiku was appalled to see Alfred openly remove his pants in front of him! Without a word of warning, too! The action reminded him of Feliciano, who unless immediately stopped, shed his pants religiously at three o'clock every afternoon. "W-What are—" He began to question Alfred's actions, until he saw the injury to his knee. It looked rather gruesome. He saw the tears before Alfred even noticed them. It must hurt really badly! He had to do something to help. "Please! Do not cry. I will be right back."

He ran out of the room and down the fall to the supplies closet where a first aid kit was located. He opened it and made sure the appropriate things were there—band-aids, gauze, ointment, among other things. (With people like Ivan and Gilbert as school, one could never be too careful.) He also took a bottle of peroxide and a bag of cotton balls and returned to Alfred. "This will not hurt," he said reassuringly.

Alfred watched through bleary eyes as he tried to calm down.

It was the first time anyone had treated one of his wounds who wasn't Arthur.

* * *

Arthur was not well.

His body began to tremble more violently, his heart ached, his throat had the single most disgusting taste he had ever felt and his eyes were stinging – and to top it all, he was no longer sure he simply wanted Alfred to leave so that he could cry, as much as he was sure he wanted to scream until his lungs burst. He clutched his chest tightly, taking deep breaths as if it would actually help him calm down – hell, he looked like he had cried a river already!

He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to run back to his dorm room and lock the door – to hell with his roommate! But at the same time, he really didn't; he wanted- no, he _needed_ someone to keep his mind as far from Alfred F. Jones as possible. If he kept thinking of the bastard, he might finally snap.

So who better for the job than Francis Bonnefoy?

_Yes_, they argued on a daily basis over the silliest things – from clothing, to taste in food, going as far to discuss why or (why not) Arthur should just shave his eyebrows. _Yes_, Francis was a pervert and couldn't keep his hands to himself and he could _almost_ be considered a rival as far as the Student Council was concerned. But deep down, they were sort of like… Friends.  
Not that Arthur would ever admit to such a thing!

As he was led out of the room by Francis, he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and tried his best to repress all the memories and feelings that seemed to _wake up_ with the mere presence of Alfred – the arguments, the fights and that one last goodbye, as well as all the anguish that it brought. It was too much, too much for Arthur to handle. If only things had been different… But no, Alfred just had to be so, so-- so ungrateful!

Once they were outside, Arthur made the foolish mistake of looking in the direction of the dorms; it made his stomach churn.

He looked away. For God's sake, was he not a gentleman? He was acting as anything _but_ one!

He inhaled deeply, feeling the faint scent of flowers – or was it Francis's perfume?

He merely shrugged it off and concentrated on the Frenchman's question.  
What _should_ he answer?

Should he just sit down and tell him the entire story?

Or perhaps he should glare at Francis and tell him that it was none of his business – well, when he thought about it twice he realized that now, in a way, it sort of was.

"He and I are not on the best of terms." He finally answered, trying to remain as calm as possible. When he realized that his answer wasn't very productive, he decided to elaborate. "We used to be friends. Things did not go as well as either might have hoped. I hadn't seen him in years."

He wasn't going to pester Francis with all of the little details – but Alfred just might. Stupid hyperactive blob. He'd say anything to make himself look great – like a hero, was it? Well, he was far from ever being one. Stupid git.

Francis watched Arthur's state deteriorate. When they finally reached outside, the Frenchman could no longer bear it. Even if Arthur was absolutely fun harass, it was unfair for him to suffer so much. He pulled the shorter blond into his arms and held him close in a completely benign, comforting manner. "Really, _chéri_, that was more than obvious," he remarked at statement about them not being on the best of terms. They had to be, for the Englishman to be so out of sorts. He could tell that Arthur didn't want to talk about this more than he had to, so he didn't press any further on the details. "What can I do to make things better for you?" Francis was amazed by his own generosity. Usually he'd do anything to bring Arthur down. "You're more than welcome to stay at my place until this blows over. Yao can get over it," he offered. He was expecting to be yelled at, hit, or both. But really, what else could he do to make him feel better? Well, besides _that_.

For once, Arthur did not seem to mind the closeness he was currently sharing with Francis – or was it the other way around? Well, he would mind if Francis suddenly decided to grope him, but that did not seem to be the case.  
The Englishman, too, was surprised by his kindness. Usually they were involved in pointless bickering and trying to ruin each other's ego; they always had something to fight about, even if they had some sort of ongoing sense of respect for each other. But not this time – he wasn't doing it and expecting some sort of favour it return; he was being _generous_. And Arthur noticed that. And he wondered why that was.

He twitched visibly and the Frenchman's suggestion, even though he probably did not mean it in a lewd manner – just that once. Still. "You pervert!" Arthur exclaimed, glaring up at him, although he made no effort to move away. Soon enough, however, his features softened – and thankfully too, or he might have tried to smash Francis' head against the closest wall.

He didn't need much time to make a decision. "No, leave it be." He stated. His tone was somewhat cold, but something in the way he said it almost made him sound… grateful? "I think I can handle the little bastard."

Of course, he meant more than just enduring Alfred's constant presence without doing a thing – he was student council president, after all! He could make Alfred's life hell; and if the American tried anything, then he should be prepared – Arthur wouldn't make the same mistakes twice.

Francis couldn't help but smile at Arthur's abrupt accusation. He hadn't meant it that way, and he was sure Arthur knew that too. He was starting to act like his usual self again, which was good.

He ran his hand through the Englishman's hair as he held him. He was tempted to do so much more. Not in a bad way! …Just an innocent little kiss…right there…on those lips that had been trembling so fiercely. It would almost be worth getting walloped by Arthur…no, it would be worth it. But Francis was a man of morals! He wouldn't take advantage of someone who was clearly in distress. "No…_Chéri_, I never doubted that you couldn't handle him yourself. Just don't think you're alone in all of this. _Tu n'es pas. Tu as moi." _Never had he uttered such words to Arthur.

And meant it.

Perhaps he was undergoing a brief moment of insanity. Why else would he have said such things so openly? His grip loosened on Arthur slightly, both to allow him to pull away when he wished and to for Francis to make a quick getaway if he needed to. He couldn't put it past Arthur to not hold it against him.

Arthur stood in a state of mild shock. This was, by far, one of the strangest situations he had been involved in; never had he thought that the Frenchman could be so _kind_ to anyone. He was a pervert, a fool in all his right, and he was willing to act on it on every occasion. If he did anyone a favour, he expected something in return – and it was quite often in the form of other _favours_.  
But now, either he had gotten very good at telling likes and faking - at which point Arthur would beg to differ, for he did not think that Francis had the ability to do such things -, or the Englishman was not mistaken and he _was_ being honest and trying to make him feel _better_.

Well, that was rather scary.  
Although, he mused, it was also quite comforting.  
Arthur was always called "friendless". He kept bickering with Francis, and many other people, and no one really acknowledged Antonio's younger sibling as his _friend_. No one acknowledged Francis as his friend, either, because a lot of people probably just saw him as a fuckbuddy.

He had never thought of actually seeking Francis as his solace. Apparently, he should have done precisely that, a very long time ago. Perhaps… In spite of all their bickering, they could actually get along. After all, they respected each other, did they not?  
Either way, it felt nice to be on speaking terms with him.

That is, of course, until he said the rest.

Arthur's body might have frozen for a few moments. Even though he would sometimes much rather forget that he knew French altogether, he had understood him clearly.

He felt the grip around him loose a bit, but did not really perceive it as a sign to move away. No, no, now this was too much – was this really Francis? _The_ Francis that Arthur Kirkland had known for so many years?  
He looked up at the slightly taller Frenchman with a questioning look on his face.  
"Are you trying to be cheeky, Francis?"

"_Non, non. Je suis très sérieux, mon petit chou_." Francis looked down at Arthur, debating on whether or not to say any more. He decided it was best not to say anything else about the subject—he couldn't even explain it, and he was an expert on _l'amour_! He was clearly sick or something. He was being way too open with the Englishman. It was better when Arthur thought Francis actually hated him. He didn't feel so vulnerable then.

But he had been honest and shown Arthur exactly how he felt, if the Englishman wasn't being thickheaded, he would see it clearly now. That is, if those eyebrows didn't block his view, haha! Arthur seemed to be in a constant state of denial, so perhaps he would be alright. If not…If Arthur actually _understood_ how serious Francis's feelings were…How he actually meant every word he had said this afternoon…He would be royally screwed. It was a Francis's own secret perversion, he supposed, for him to have such an emotional attachment to such heartless _salaud_ as Arthur Kirkland. There was no doubt in Francis's mind that Arthur would take advantage of the situation and make things difficult for him, now that his weakness had been exposed.

"_Baiser_!" Francis muttered under his breath. He had gone out of his way to comfort his friend…and now, well, he was getting in a foul mood as well. He tightened his grip on Arthur again, this time tighter than before. "Why must you always question things?" He asked through clenched teeth.

* * *

Arthur was not quite sure he believed the Frenchman. No, something was clearly off – Francis being so serious? Clearly this was some sick joke.  
He could have almost snapped at him right there, for mocking his state.

Yet, two things stopped him. First off, he was _Francis_; hell would freeze over twice before he missed out on a chance to damage Arthur's inflated ego.  
Second, there was something in the way the Frenchman was addressing him which made him question his own thoughts.  
He felt as if he was contradicting himself.  
Damn it all. Damn it all to hell!

How could he be so confused? Obviously Francis was simply trying to provoke him, as he did on a daily basis, addressing him with affectionate French terms as if they were lovers of some sort and-  
_No_.  
He couldn't possibly mean it that way, could he?

Somewhere deep inside his head, Arthur was screaming, although he was not quite sure about why anymore.  
He swallowed dryly, once, and decided that denial was the next best thing.  
After all, it would soothe his eventually guilty conscience, no?

"What a load of bo-"

He was interrupted by Francis, who all of a sudden seemed none too pleased with their current situation. He felt his grip around him tighten considerably; however, having been caught by surprise, he merely gasped, making no move to free himself.  
"What in the world, Francis…!?"

Then his question kicked in.

He would have given him the most _logical_ and _literal_ answer, but discovered that his voice was trapped somewhere in the strange knot that had just formed in his throat and he was unable to say a thing. Not that Francis probably expected an answer to begin with.

_But even so…_


	4. Chapter 4

Of Faeries and Make-Believe Heroes

Chapter Four

* * *

"…There, all better," Kiku said as he finished treating and bandaging Alfred's knee. He looked up at the American, noting he was wearing an odd expression. (Most expressions Westerners bore were odd to Kiku; it was a mystery as to way they insisted on displaying so much emotion, but this one was different still.) "Anou, Arufu—"

"Huh? Oh…sorry. I kinda spaced there." He laughed uncomfortably, a little embarrassed to having been caught in such a reverie. "I was just, uh…thinking about the person who previously stayed here." He said, blatantly lying through his teeth.

"He was annexed by Russia."

* * *

As Feliciano was set on the ground, he seemed to momentarily lose all the strength on his legs and ended up falling backwards and onto a sitting position. He didn't complain, though - he had just been a bit clumsy, was all. He looked up at Ludwig and smiled warmly, happy that the German wanted to play with him for the time being.

"_D'accordo_!" He exclaimed, and immediately began to rummage through his bag (it was a wonder how he could fit so many things in there, from books to pasta!) until he found what he was looking for: a plastic bag with a football inside. He took it out and closed his school bag, but left it on the ground even after he stood up.

"Here!" He stretched his arms towards Ludwig, expecting him to take the object from his hands.

"Ve~, this will be fun!

Even though only moments earlier he had been asleep, he was clearly full of energy already.

* * *

Ludwig watched the Italian and felt a blush creep upon his cheeks. Why was the Italian so cute? He looked away from said person until his blush went away and looked back, to see Feliciano scrambling around animatedly to get out the ball.

He took the ball when it was held out to him. He was careful to hide his blush this time. He tossed it lightly in the air a few times, just to, before letting it fall to the ground and kicking it between his feet. He jogged several metres away from their belongings so they wouldn't be in the way.

When Feliciano was ready, Ludwig indicated the two landmarks that would act as goals and began playing.

Feliciano stood still, watching Ludwig intently, still smiling like he had been ever since they were left alone by Lovino, who constantly tried to separate him from his best friend for every other reason. He was amazing – Ludwig, that is! He was strong, and smart, and even if he could be a bit ill-tempered sometimes, he would always comfort Feliciano and apologize for scaring him.  
He was also great at football – Feliciano didn't really mind losing against him. The German could be quite competitive, but not with him; no, when they played, they played for _fun_.

Even after Ludwig had made his way in one direction, Feliciano didn't move; he seemed too caught up in his daydreaming. It was only when he was informed of his respective goal that he jogged in the opposite direction to the blond, stopping to catch his breath when he reached his destination – even though the distance wasn't that big to begin with.

He seemed unprepared when Ludwig began to play, but it was always like that, anyway. Without waiting much longer, Feliciano joined him, laughing merrily.

* * *

Ludwig played with Feliciano until all that was left of the sun was the pink pigments left in the sky in the west. He could have easily dominated the game and beat Feliciano, but he decided not to and in the last moment of the game, he allowed the Italian to make the winning goal. He watched the little Italian cheer happily and chuckled to himself as he walked over to their school things.

As they walked toward the dormitory, the clock tower chimed loudly, indicating it was now eight o'clock. Soon, all the other students would be filing out of their respective dorms to the cafeteria for dinner. If he wasn't mistaken, tonight was supposed to be Italian. "We should hurry up," Ludwig said, quickening his pace but not to the point that Feliciano couldn't keep up.

* * *

"_Merde_!" Francis couldn't stop the series of curses that slurred out of his mouth. This was too much_. __Tu ne peux pas avoir ton gâteau et manger aussi._ It was good enough for them to be friends, wasn't it? Even if their friendship was usually strained and dysfunctional…that was how it was supposed to be. It was foolish to hope for otherwise, like Francis had. And see where it got him? The damned Englishman didn't believe him anyway, and he had caused himself to lose face. Arthur thought it was a joke. Everything Francis did was a joke to him.

He let go of Arthur and stepped back. With the best game face he could muster, all things considered, he spoke as convincingly as he could. "_C'est rien du tout. Ça ne fait rien!_ " He gave his best laugh and walked away, but not without informing Arthur how idiotic his eyebrows were. He walked to the dorms, his heart in his stomach, slowly being eaten away by acid and microscopic organisms. He knew it was low to leave Arthur like that. But…he didn't know what else to do….He was so angry, so conflicted… He wanted to help Arthur, but…_Merde, merde, merde!_

Francis went so his dorm room as fast as he could without running. Running when in a state like he was in was unsightly and would attract attention that he didn't want now, for once. He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even know if Yao was in the room with him or not….he was so lost. Always, he had been able to make a decision and just go with it. Plenty of times, it had been the wrong choice…but he had at least been able to make it. Now his mind was jumbled, his emotions mixed up…unable to determine what he should do.

Nothing. He would do nothing. He couldn't ignore Arthur—he was everywhere. So…next time they meet…which would inevitably be in a few hours when dîner was ready…he would pretend like nothing happened….If Arthur brought it up in a completely sincere, un-ridiculing way…that was different…He doubted that would happen. It would be the opposite, so he had to prepare himself.

After all, Arthur was truly an _i__mpitoyable salaud_.

* * *

Yao had returned to the comfort of his dorm right after the end of his classes. It seemed as if Kiku had other things on his mind than to pay attention to him, even if he simply wanted to say hello; but well, Yao couldn't really blame him, after all, they hadn't been on the best of terms for a long time now.

The dark-haired young man lay on his bed, stomach down and shirtless, revealing a large scar across his bare back. He was reading something for his class in absolute silence, save for the sounds of nature and distant voices that made their way through the open window.  
His slight frustration regarding Kiku's behaviour had immediately vanished and he was in quite a pleasant mood… Until Francis got there, that is.

"Hello, aru!" He greeted, not turning away from his reading. When he did not receive a reply, however, he tilted his head in the direction of the Frenchman and the sight he was greeted with was all but natural. He seemed so… Sad? No, that was not the right word. But Francis was definitely not well. Yao might not be his best friend, but they actually got along well enough, all things considered.

"Francis, aru?" He questioned loudly. Hopefully this time he had heard him and would say something.

Francis heard his name. "Hey…you don't have to yell. I'm right here, Yao." The Frenchman smiled the best he could—there was no point in bringing his roommate down with his foul mood. He sat up and leaned against the wall. "There's a lot on my mind…Sorry for not hearing you before."

Never being one to brood for long, he opened his book bag and worked on some of his homework, occasionally engaging in some conversation with Yao. When the clock chimed eight, he looked out of the window, then to the menu that was sitting on his desk. Tonight was sautéed shrimp and fettuccini alfredo. That was good—he was actually quite hungry now. Had it been English cuisine night, he would have fasted until the next morning, like most of the student body.

He examined himself in the mirror. Once he was certain he looked like his normal beautiful self, he walked to the cafeteria, accompanied by his lackeys, who, upon reaching Francis's normal table, pulled back the chair for him and got his food for him. Ah, _oui_, it was great to be French.

* * *

What in the world?

Arthur was utterly confused. Francis' mood was switching strangely and he could not help but to question his friend's sanity. What could he possibly be thinking of right then? Did he think of Arthur was someone so dimwitted that he didn't (eventually) reach the conclusion that his kindness wasn't directed at random people and that he had some reason to act that way?

Arthur would have argued. He would have glared and told him a piece of his mind, but he was released from the Frenchman's iron grip and faced with silly lies and laughter he knew shouldn't be countered – not then, anyway. Neither of them wanted to get into a heated argument.

He wasn't even bothered by the comment directed at his eyebrows.

And in the end, he mused, he wasn't all that bothered about what Francis was feeling. At least not in the sense in which Arthur would run after him, hug him, apologize to him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear to comfort him.  
It was best not to feed a lie, whatever that lie may be.

It didn't take him long to realize that he was alone; he had been abandoned, but perhaps with reason. And it all hurt again. Alfred. The memories. Everything.  
He felt sick all over again; he felt sick and angered and it was best to just be alone. He kicked a pebble out of his way and headed back to the dormitories at a slower pace than Francis. He needed some tea, or perhaps just a book, to clear his mind of these wretched thoughts and to ease his aching heart.

When he finally got to the building and went up the stairs, he felt even sicker. As he reached the thirteenth door, he felt a strange sort of despair and could not help but to look over at number 14 – Alfred's room.

He stood like that for a few minutes, but once he realized just _what_ he was doing, he immediately turned to his own door and furiously searched through his trousers' pockets in search of those blasted keys – which, when he _did_ find them, seemed to keep slipping through his fingers.

"Damn it all to hell!" He hissed under his breath.

* * *

"…Annexed?" Alfred's eyes widened. That sounded really scary. Alfred liked scary things…sometimes…but that was just….No. He'd have to stay away from any Russians on campus. Realizing he didn't have pants on, he grabbed a pair of shorts from his suitcase and slipped them over his hips. He wondered if Kiku knew anything about getting stains out of clothes. He sure as hell didn't.

Over the next bit of time, Alfred talked to Kiku about various things. Likes, dislikes, whatever. He even learned how to say the Japanese man's name right! When the clock tower chimed, he looked at his roommate in confusion. "What's that?"

"That is the dinner bell," Kiku replied. He contemplated on whether or not to invite the American to eat with him. The blond was interesting, even if he was a little impolite and domineering. It would be the polite thing to do… "Dinner is in the cafeteria…there's no assigned seating arrangement, so if you would like, you can sit with my friends and me." He had a feeling the American and Italian would get along just fine.

"Really? I'd like that." Alfred smiled and left the dorm room with Kiku.

* * *

As the game went on, Feliciano proved himself to be a fairly good player – in spite of his clumsiness and the fact that he would get tired much faster than Ludwig. But of course, if Ludwig was giving it his best, Feliciano wouldn't stand a chance; that last goal made him happy, even if he knew that Ludwig had made it easier for him. Well, he wasn't that airheaded that he wouldn't notice how easily the goal could have been defended; even so, he said nothing. Ludwig had let him win and that made Feliciano all the happier – he wasn't being stomped on by his best friend.

"Ve, ve~ I won!" He cheered happily, but not in some highly pretentious manner; he was just excited – almost as if he had forgotten that it was due to the German's help.

Soon enough, he was following Ludwig back to the dormitories. Then the clock chimed and he realized just how hungry he was – and that night they would be having some really yummy food!

"Sì!" He exclaimed and followed his friend to the cafeteria.

Once they got there, Feliciano looked around. There was Lovino, sitting with Antonio and a few other European students… There was Elizaveta and Roderich… Ah! "Kiku!" He exclaimed loudly, waving his hand. He pulled Ludwig along, heading towards the dark-haired boy. "We were playing football and I won and…" He suddenly looked over and saw an unfamiliar face. It was a young man, tall and blonde with blue eyes and glasses.

"Ve, who are you?" He asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.

When Ludwig walked into the cafeteria with Feliciano, he wasn't surprised to see that many students had already arrived and were either in line or at their tables eating. They had been late, after all. He glanced around the cafeteria, not really caring who was around. Feliciano obviously did, as Ludwig was abruptly pulled by the smaller boy across the cafeteria over to Kiku.

He nodded a greeting to the dark-haired boy, not wanting to interrupt the Italian. He noticed a blond he had never seen standing beside Kiku, looking around the room curiously. Who was this guy?

Alfred was standing in line with Kiku to get food when he heard someone call his roommate. He glanced at the two who had walked up, but since he had been distracted from staring at the glorious food he could not have yet, he took the opportunity to look around the room. There were tons and tons of people he didn't know yet. He couldn't wait—almost as much as he couldn't wait to eat—for the opportunity to show everyone how truly amazing he was.

Hearing himself being addressed, he turned his attention to the little brunette who was standing before him. As he opened him mouth to speak, Kiku spoke.

"How rude of me," Kiku said. "Alfred, these are my…friends," he said, hoping that was the appropriate word, "Feliciano and Ludwig. Alfred is my new roommate."

"_Schön, dich kennenzulernen_," Ludwig said.

Alfred was too distracted to notice, taking an interest in Feliciano. "Hey! You like football? I _love_ football!" he said energetically, acting out a long pass with an invisible football.

Kiku looked at his roommate with a blank expression. "Feliciano was referring to what you would call soccer," he said.

"Oh. _Oh_. Soccer…soccer's cool." Alfred said with less energy than the previously mentioned sport. He moved up in line a bit and got his food, along with Kiku in the others. He followed them to an empty table and ate. The food was _so_ good!

* * *

"Oh, sorry, aru." Yao smiled at him. He did not really take notice of how time passed so quickly; he eventually resumed his reading as Francis decided to do his homework. They would occasionally speak about this or that, but nothing all too serious. By dinner time, his roommate got ready and left, while Yao decided to stay in the room for a little longer; he really didn't want to have to push past dozens of students, so it was best to simply wait.

He eventually stood up and got fully dressed in a matter of minutes. He decided to knock on Arthur's door to see if he was there; he hadn't heard the Briton when Francis left, so perhaps he was still in his room. He stopped in front of door number thirteen and knocked.

"Arthur, aru?"

Arthur had eventually gotten inside his room, slammed the door and locked it for good measure – after all, it wasn't as if he had a roommate or anything of the sort who would be bothered by it. He paced around the room, thinking of a way to calm himself down.

Alfred was there.

Francis was not very happy.

Arthur didn't know what to do. He had tried to take a nap, but was unable to do so; his tea did not calm him down as it usually would have. Homework and books did not distract him from the matter at hand.  
He was going mad.

The only thing he could do was pace around the room, speaking to himself and his faerie friends. They were his only comfort, but even they decided to leave after a while.

He was all alone, alone and desperate.

He eventually sat down on the floor, pulling his hair and clawing at his scalp. This was getting him nowhere, nowhere at all! But he couldn't just tell Alfred to kindly shut up and _go die_, nor could he tell Francis to be a man and act as he always did… So what should he do?

He was being a fool, but he couldn't really avoid it.

Arthur could be angry and could lose his temper at the smallest things, but simply mentioning Alfred F. Jones was enough to put him in a similar state to the one he was now.

He did not notice as time went by and did not make an effort to move even after dinner time was announced. He wasn't sure he could eat in his current state, anyway.

_Arthur, aru?_

Arthur heard a knock at his door and recognized the visitor's voice as Yao's. He was tempted to ignore him, but eventually decided to see what he wanted. He stood up and walked towards the door, stopping only to make sure he looked mildly decent. He unlocked the door and greeted his classmate.

"Aren't you going to eat, aru?"

"I'm not very hungry."

"Nonsense, aru! You need to be healthy, aru!"

And with that, Arthur was pulled from the comfort of his room and only managed to close the door before he was being dragged down to the cafeteria.

Once the two boys got there, Yao immediately spotted Francis and made his way there.

"Do you mind, aru?" He asked the Frenchman with a smile, referring to if they could sit down and eat with him or not.

Arthur simply looked down in a clearly upset manner; he was positive that Francis would say "no".

* * *

Francis sat at his table, his plate of food before him, but he had yet to eat it. There wasn't anything wrong with the food. It smelled and looked quite appealing…he just couldn't bring himself to eat quite yet. He was deep in thought when he heard Yao talked to him. He looked up and saw his roommate and the Englishman standing in front of his table.

In a sick way, it pleased him the latter was there. Even more so that he looked utterly miserable.

_Do I mind? Quoi? Ohhhh_… He smiled cheerfully and gestured graciously to the empty seats before him. He was determined to act as normal as usual, so his only choice was to oblige. "_Oui, bien sûr_," he said. "Although, Arthur, _connard_, you really should wash that dirt off your face before you eat dinner. Didn't your mother teach you that? Oh, _je suis desolé_. Those are your eyebrows."

He chuckled to himself. Such insults would never get old.


	5. Chapter 5

Of Faeries and Make-Believe Heroes

Chapter Five

* * *

**Authors' Note**:

**Mani: Firstly, we'd like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, ect, our story. It makes us so happy. Um...anything you want to say, Val?**

**Val: ...I was going to make a humorous remark about Feliciano having an impish side, until then I realized it wasn't very humourous to begin with.**

**Mani: o_O ...Like Mathieu! Hehe, also, please keep in mind that neither one of are native French speakers...and we only know France-French *cough* _ So please forgive Mathieu's un-Canadian French. xD And our own French...but only if it happens to be incorrect. xD We're meticulous about our grammar, but sometimes there are mistakes so yeah...Revue, svp?  
**

* * *

"Oh, Ludwig and I never play that." Feliciano stated, scratching his head; the other didn't seem as eager when he realized that their definition of 'football' was different. Oh well; hopefully he'd still want to play sometime soon!

The young Italian got a rather large portion of food – honestly, it was amazing how he – or his brother, Lovino, for that matter – managed to eat so much. He took a seat next to Ludwig, as per usual, and happily began to eat. He would occasionally look at the other occupants of the table and engage in some sporadic conversation.

"Ve~ what do you think of this place so far, Alfred?" He eventually asked. His first idea had been to ask what he thought of dinner thus far, but he figured it would be nicer if he asked something else, to make the young man feel more at home. As he waited for an answer, he glanced over at Ludwig for a moment with a sweet smile on his face. He didn't have anything to say to him at that moment, but… He was just happy that they were all together.

Alfred ate his meal in silence. For the first time all afternoon, his mind was devoid of any ill thought whatsoever. It was rather nice. He took a swig of his cola as he regarded the question what's-his-face asked him. Feli…si or chi? His brows knitted as he tried to remember how to say the other's name. He was always good at remembering peoples' names at home, but at home, names were normal—John, Peter, Susan, Cathy. Here…it wasn't so. Maybe he could get away with calling the brunette Feli, Or Phil, even.

"I…I like it here so far," he replied. It wasn't unnecessarily untrue, either. With the exception of one, everyone he met today was really nice. Francis, Kiku, and the other two he was sitting with for dinner. So it wasn't all bad. Therefore, there was no point in mentioning anything negative. It didn't _exist_. "I'm not too big on the class schedule—there's no nap or snack time." He slurped some of his noodles. "But this food is so amazing, it almost makes up for it!"

He looked over at Feliciano and smiled. Just past him, he saw Arthur. Staring at him. He was starting to get used to the pang in his chest he had been feeling today, but by no means did he like it. Seeing Arthur looking at him unnerved him. _But…I can't let him see that_. So he didn't acknowledge that he noticed the Englishman looking his way and continued talking to his new friends.

"Ve, Ludwig, Alfred agrees with me!" Feliciano exclaimed, looking up at the German once again; it would have been wiser to not speak with his mouth full of food, but thankfully he did not spit anything onto his friend's clothes or face.  
Feliciano agreed with Alfred – it would be much better if they had some more time to eat and sleep between classes. If that was the case, he wouldn't have to resort to skipping and having to hear an angry Ludwig lecturing him about the importance of attending class afterward; Ludwig could be really scary when he got angry!

He sort of tuned out from most of the conversation that ensued; he was too busy eating his dinner of nearly gargantuan proportions and daydreaming to listen to anything they might have said. Until something popped into his mind and he decided to share it with everyone.

"Ve, who is representing your class in the student council?"

Since when did Feliciano think of these things?

* * *

Ludwig nodded in acknowledgement but didn't say anything. There was no point in discussing the whole snack and naptime thing. Feliciano failed to understand that they weren't in kindergarten. Thus, he continued eating his meal in silence. He preferred to eat in silence anyway. Others may think it rude…well; at least he didn't end up looking like Feliciano or this Alfred.

* * *

Alfred didn't bother swallowing his food before answering Feliciano's question. "I'm my class's representative!" He said animatedly, not failing to spew his food as he spoke. He swallowed, then looked down at his now empty plate, disappointed that the delicious food was gone. "Aw, man." He pouted for a moment. "Is there a dessert?"

Kiku spoke up for the first time since they had began their meal. "There is canolli. Perhaps we can take it to go?" He asked amicably. He was anxious to get Alfred away before the American embarrassed himself, and in turn, Kiku, even more. He was relieved when his roommate agreed with the idea

"Please forgive his rudeness," Kiku said once Alfred was out of earshot. "He…He doesn't know any better."

"Don't worry about it, Kiku," Ludwig replied. He was tempted to reply, _I'm used to it._ He decided against it, and just hoped that his reassuring tone would put Kiku at ease.

Kiku nodded and stood, bowing slightly. "Please excuse me. See you tomorrow." He walked over to the dessert counter where Alfred was staring at all the canolli. "They are all the same," Kiku informed him.

"Wah! You scared me!" Alfred exclaimed. He hadn't even heard the other approach! "I suppose you're right," he said. All the canolli were the same…and yet, he was still there looking for the biggest one. When he had finally determined he had the best one, he took it and walked with his roommate back to the dormitory.

He noticed that his roommate looked as if he was intending to save his canolli for later. Amazing! And here Alfred was, unable to leave the cafeteria before chomping down on his dessert!

* * *

Feliciano bid farewell to the two boys, but turned his attention back to his plate of food in no time. He really didn't understand why Kiku had apologized for Alfred – he seemed really nice, all things considered! He made a point to go and get desserts both for himself and Ludwig, even if the latter had not expressed any desire to eat it, anyway.

He was never really in a hurry to leave the cafeteria, or at least not when there was food that he liked, but soon it was time to leave, and he had to say goodnight to his friend and go back to his own room, where Lovino was probably getting ready to go to bed already. He didn't take long to do the same thing and go to bed.

Of course, that did not mean he didn't wake up a few times during the night, or that he decided to give Ludwig some peace.

* * *

Typical. Francis couldn't go one day without insulting Arthur; Yao merely rolled his eyes at that.

"Thank you. Oh, we'll be right back, aru." Seeing as neither Yao nor Arthur had gotten anything to eat yet, he decided that they should do that while the line was short and there was still food left. He grabbed the other boy's arm and gently pulled him along in the direction of the line.

Arthur didn't really make an effort to escape Yao's grasp… Until he saw _him_, that is.

He didn't want to be there in the first place, but Yao had not given him a chance. Then Francis, being the imbecile he was, saw it fit to throw insults in his direction, completely disregarding his previous reaction – and it wasn't that it would usually bother Arthur, anyway, he was used to the eyebrow jokes; but he was particularly sensitive that day for obvious reasons, and not just that, but speaking of his mother always ticked him off. Especially seeing as how he did not get the chance to be with her for too long before…

He shook his head and managed to throw a nasty look at the Frenchman. He was about to say something, but Yao was quick to drag him to the line – and thus he found himself in his current predicament.

"Oi, you know what? I'm not very hungry, so…"

"Don't make up such excuses, aru!" Yao shook his head, ignoring Arthur's protests. But Arthur was not weak and managed to break free from the other boy's grasp – which was not really forceful to begin with – and stopped.

"No, really," he began. "You go on. I'm not hungry."

There was a short silence between the two, until Yao finally sighed and agreed to go by himself and let Arthur go back to the table.

Arthur sighed in relief and turned around to return to Francis' table. But before he could move, he felt tempted to look back at him… And so he did.

He was sitting by Kiku, Ludwig and one of the Vargas siblings. He seemed so happy – and deep down, Arthur might have felt _happy_ for him, until those awful, _awful_ memories reminded him that he should never be happy for Alfred, not now, not ever again. His stomach was a tied into a big knot by then and Arthur was sure that it wouldn't take much more for him to feel that bitter, almost acid taste of vomit at the back of his throat.  
Hate, hate, hate.

He turned away immediately and took a seat in front of Francis, but decided not to say a thing; his look was probably enough. Bitterness directed at Alfred, some sort of irritation directed at Francis – or perhaps simply at his comment? – And some sort of sadness – or was it really? Arthur, sad?

He was often angry, yes. But _sad_?

Alfred would drive him into madness in no time.

Thankfully, Yao returned shortly afterwards and took a seat. He placed a plate in front of Arthur, earning himself a frown.

"I figured you were just being stubborn, aru."

"_Oh_." Arthur almost smiled. "Thank you…"

"Eh, excuse me?"

What was that? Did someone say something?

"Excuse me?"

Arthur looked up and Yao eventually did the same. They found themselves staring at a shy, meek young boy with blonde/orange hair and glasses who stood with a tray on his hands.

"Yes? Do you need anything?" Arthur questioned. He looked… familiar. Upon a closer inspection, he noticed that he looked a bit like Alfred. Or perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him - _hopefully_ that was it.

"Eh... May I… May I sit here?" He asked in that same low tone he had first used; it was almost impossible to hear him with all the noise in the room.

"Of course, aru!" Yao was quick to respond, motioning to one of the empty chairs. The boy placed his tray on the table and sat down; he looked a bit uneasy. "Say, aru… Are you new here?"

"O-oh! Yes, yes I am. My name is Matthew Williams." He stated with a soft smile.

"Nice to meet you, aru! I'm Yao." The dark-haired young man smiled, and then pointed towards the other boys. "These are Arthur and Francis, aru."

Matthew nodded. "_Enchanté_… Oh, I mean…" He blushed a light shade of pink, seemingly embarrassed at having spoken in a different language which the other three may not understand. "It's very nice to meet you."

* * *

Francis knew mentioning Arthur's mother was a low blow. At the moment, he really didn't care. He had resolved to acting 'normally' with the Englishman, yes, but that would only be after he got all his resentment out. Or at least, some of it. Francis knew better than to use all of his countless insults up all at once. He needed to use them wisely to increase the desired effect. Like now.

Regardless of whether or not Arthur was in a bad mood, he would make it worse just to spite him. He speared a shrimp with his fork and looked at his _vis-à-vis_. "If you keep brooding like that, you'll spoil my meal. You should at least be grateful that I'm allowing you to sit at my table," he muttered, although he spoke precisely so Arthur could clearly hear what he said. He had heard a phrase before. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' Whoever said that clearly hadn't pissed off a Frenchman.

His mood was temporarily lifted when he heard a word from his mother tongue. Although it sounded a little odd…it didn't matter at the moment! He looked up from his plate of seriously impaled shrimp to see an adorable blond (though no where as attractive as himself) standing before his table! He looked oddly like Alfred, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Alfred was actually rather good looking as well, for someone who wasn't French. He decided to keep that in mind, in case he _really_ felt like pissing Arthur off.

"_Ah! Enchanté, Mathieu ! Je m'appelle Francais. Parles-tu français aussi ? Quelle coïncidence ! Français est ma langue maternelle ! __D'où viens-tu ?" _He asked, speaking rapidly in French.

* * *

Arthur couldn't help but to snort upon hearing Francis' comment; he was really bent on lowering his ego even more, wasn't he? Well, bollocks to him. "I don't see your bloody name on it." He muttered, glaring at him through thick, furrowed brows. If he wanted Arthur to leave, then he should just tell him so; hell, it wasn't as if he was there willingly! Alfred was in the room, so why would he want to be there in the first place? The idiot's mere presence was making his life worse, and now Francis had decided he would try and do the same.

Thankfully, Yao noticed the growing tension between the two. "Now, now, calm down, aru!" He laughed nervously, waving his hand in the air between the two as if it would make things any better. "We're all friends, yes, aru?"

Unfortunately for him, Arthur's only response was a grunt before he turned his attention back to the food on his plate. Bloody hell, even his dinner seemed to be trying to make him feel worse!

Matthew noticed that there was something wrong between the two blond boys at the table, to the point that they would speak coldly to each other, even if it was in a somewhat discrete manner. He ultimately decided not to get himself into a fight, however, and simply smiled at Yao, who had been the first to speak to him ever since he had left his classroom in the afternoon.

But as he was about to eat something, the boy with longer, wavy hair turned to him and began to speak in French; it made him smile again, albeit nervously. He had found someone who understood _and_ spoke French; great!

From the way Francis spoke, he was probably from France – not that it bothered him; he just hoped that their differences wouldn't put a strain on a possible friendship. Matthew chewed on his lower lip for a bit before he finally answered. "_Je viens de Canada. C'est formidable à rencontrer quelqu'un d'autre qui parle français aussi_."

* * *

Francis gave Arthur a cool glare. _If he wants my name on the fucking table, I'll be sure to _engrave_ it on every one in the room!_ He was mindful not to say it though. He was a nice enough person to not want to make the others feel uncomfortable! (By that he meant only Mathieu, since Yao ought to be used to it by now.)

He directed his attention to his cute little acquaintance instead. He could tell that Mathieu was Canadian. His accent was _atrocious_! At least he could understand what he said, for the most part anyway. "_Oui, c'est très formidable. Mais, il faut que tu parles correctement français. __Québécois est vraiment terrible à écouter_. "

He smiled sweetly at Mathieu then looked at the rest of the group. "Well, it was lovely having dinner with you Arthur, Yao, nice to meet you, Mathieu. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some beautiful ladies to 'charm'." With that, he excused himself and left the cafeteria.

However, there would be no charming the ladies tonight. No…what he needed was a hot shower and a good night's sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day….

* * *

Matthew could only shrug; he wasn't particularly offended with Francis's comment. He liked the way he spoke and did not find the need to change it. There wasn't much he could say, really, so he remained quiet and ate his meal – and suddenly Francis was looking at him and saying such nice things before he stood up and left, while he is left behind, blinking in confusion.

"Ladies, eh?" He mutters in a barely audible tone, looking down at his nearly empty plate. It was only when Arthur scoffed at his words and uttered some sort of reply that he noticed what he had asked and began to blush furiously. It was supposed to be a thought, only!

"His right hand, he means." Was the Englishman's reply as he finished his meal.

Yao and Mathieu were appalled, but for different reasons. Yao figured that something must be very, very wrong if Francis did not try to molest their newcomer in some way – not that it was necessarily a bad thing, really, but it was _strange_. Matthew, on the other hand, did not expect anyone to hear his comment, let alone to receive an answer such as the one Arthur gave him - and it made him blush even more, if that was in any way possible.

He finished his meal as quickly as possible, smiled and got up and ready to leave. He thanked the other two for their kindness – in English, of course –, and hoped that they see each other again.

They bid each other farewell and soon enough, Matthew had returned to his room, where he got started on his homework – he had yet to do a thing seeing as how he had spent most of the afternoon lurking about trying to get to know the school better - and then he got ready for bed. The day had been quite good, in spite of only actually starting to speak to other people so late; hopefully the next day would be better.

Arthur and Yao left only moments after that Matthew boy, immersed in some little pointless chatter. Yao had wanted to ask just what was going on ever since Francis had left them during their meal, but he ultimately decided not to say a thing; Arthur seemed upset enough as it was and he didn't want to make this even worse for any of them. Besides, as he noticed one tall Russian at not too great a distance, he could not help but to quicken his pace – and he had begged Arthur to do the same. It wasn't that he disliked Ivan… but lately he had been a bit scary around Yao.

They each went to their room and at some point got ready for bed.

Yao slept peacefully, dreaming of his beloved Shinatty-chan and pandas.

Arthur's night was terrible and ridden with nightmares.


	6. Chapter 6

Of Faeries and Make-Believe Heroes

Chapter Six

* * *

Alfred awoke to the soft rustling of his roommate getting ready for the day. Normally, he would have slept right through such quiet noises, but today, like yesterday, he was anxious to start the day and woke easily. He yawned and sat up, stretching his arms with all his might. He smiled at his roommate, who seemed to be looking over some kind of book. "'Morning, Kiku," he said with a yawn and got out of the bed, stretching yet again. He looked out of the window and smiled. It was so pretty outside! Today was definitely going to be a good day!

"Good morning," Kiku said in response. He closed the manga he was reading and returned it to its proper place on the shelf. "This is about the time I usually go to breakfast. I prefer to go before it gets crowded." He preferred to have quiet breakfasts so he could contemplate on things as well as just enjoy the morning. There usually weren't many other students in the cafeteria this early either, although the food was prepared. Occasionally he would sit with Arthur, who when he wasn't in a foul mood, could actually be quite good for conversation. Yao would be in the cafeteria too, but Kiku didn't have anything to say to him. (Of course, as manners dictate, he would greet him if he were to come upon Yao, although Kiku had a meticulous routine that usually enabled him to avoid any confrontation with him.) "If you would like to come with me, I will wait for a little bit," he offered. "Ludwig and Feliciano won't be joining us, though. Feliciano likes to sleep in, so…" He let his sentence end there. It was really too embarrassing for him to finish the sentence, anyway.

Alfred smiled. "I'd like that! Just give me a moment to get ready." As he dug a clean, albeit wrinkly uniform out of his suitcase, he wondered what exactly Kiku had meant about Feliciano and Ludwig. It didn't quite make sense that Ludwig's schedule was dictated by the Italian's sleeping pattern unless…_Oh…Were they…?_ It certainly wasn't any of his business! (This meant he would promptly ask Feliciano about it the next time they met.)

He grabbed his toiletries along with the day's clothes and went to the bathroom to get ready. Since the shower stalls had an area to change, he figured he'd change there and spare Kiku the embarrassment witnessing him take off his boxers and such. He usually dragged in the morning, but it seemed he was ready in no time! When he returned from the bathroom, Kiku had gathered his school books and waiting for him.

Alfred walked with Kiku to the cafeteria and looked around as they headed for the food line. There really wasn't anyone here! Okay, perhaps there were two or three people aside from Kiku and himself, although that certainly counted as 'nobody.' He grabbed a trey and looked at this weird soupy…liquid…thing Kiku had gotten. "What's that?" It didn't even look edible!

"Rice porridge," Kiku replied. "Honestly, I'd much prefer miso soup, but the chefs often don't have it…I'm the only one who likes it, anyway, so they don't bother buying more when they run out."

"Why don't you get something else then?" Alfred wrinkled his nose slightly and filled his plate with various breakfast foods—eggs, bacon, cereal, doughnuts, pancakes, and a biscuit. He wasn't really hungry at the moment, but since there wasn't a snack time, he most certainly needed to eat as much food as he could now!

"I'm not too accustomed to western food," Kiku replied politely and chose a table for them to sit at.

* * *

Feliciano woke up in a cheerful mood. He had slept really well and-

Wait a minute.

"Ve… What is this?" He muttered; his voice was still weak from having just woken up and he couldn't exactly move and his arms… Oh! He was just embracing Ludwig. He laughed quietly, seemingly remembering how he had snuck into the German and Austrian's room late at night, after he had woken up from a bad dream, tried to sneak into his brother's bed and Lovino had told him something not very nice, pushed him out of the bed and gone back to sleep.  
He smiled, burying his face in the blond's neck. "Ve, good morning, Ludwig!" He greeted happily, although he did not know if the other one was already awake.

* * *

But while Feliciano had just woken up, in some other room, one Antonio Carriedo had been awake for a very long time now. It wasn't strange, really – he would wake up early very often, because he did not go to bed late and night and managed to get plenty of sleep at decent hours. He had gotten ready and had made his bed, which he now lay upon, looking in the direction of the window with an absentminded smile. He would have gone outside, however, that would make it difficult for Lovi to find him afterwards! Apparently there were new students around, but Antonio had taken no notice of said people; he had been outside almost all day aside from class and dinner the day before, so he really didn't notice a lot of things aside from the clouds and the chirping of birds – and eventually, Lovino as well; he had found him and had been quick to yell and complain about his little brother, Feliciano, being around Ludwig for so long – that always managed to make Antonio chuckle; Lovi would always look as red as a tomato!

He chuckled right then at the memory. It seemed as if Lovino _could_ be cute, even if he always denied it.

* * *

Arthur woke up early - or maybe he just didn't sleep? Well, he did that as much he could be sure of, but he only had nightmares and kept waking up, covered in cold sweat.

Nightmares about Alfred… Perhaps even one with Francis. But Alfred, oh, Alfred was _killing_ him. After so many years as the least of his worries, or as much as possible, he had finally decided to finish his job and drive the Englishman to madness.

Alfred.

Alfred.

His beloved little Alfred.

"Bloody hell!" He exclaimed for the umpteenth time that morning. Alfred this, Alfred that! He remembered every single detail, every single bit of the boy's personality… And the animosity between the two was very clear in his mind as well. Curses! Curse _him_!

If only things had gotten better and… _No_. There was no room for "if only" now. If Alfred did not acknowledge him, then Arthur would do the exact same thing. He would ignore him and he would try to make things better between himself and Francis, because really, to argue with Francis once every so often was _one_ thing, but he was not about to waste their mildly stable, slash dysfunctional friendship in favour of a dolt who did not care about him in the least – and whom, as Arthur tried so hard to convince himself, he did not care about, either.

He finally got out of his bed and decided to take a shower; he needed one. He didn't take too long, and eventually got dressed and prepared things for the day.

He realized that he needed tea and, most importantly, something to eat – the food he had eaten the night before had been thrown up as soon as the nightmares began. His first instinct was to get his things and head to the cafeteria.

As he got there, he found some very unpleasant presence… He turned away immediately, feeling sick all over again. Curse that idiot! He was _everywhere_, was he not?

He got something to eat and headed towards one of the many empty tables.  
That is, until he noticed young Matthew sitting by himself and decided to go sit next to him.

They greeted each other and began to eat in silence; it seemed as if none of the two had anything to say – hell, he could hear Alfred chewing his breakfast from where he sat!

* * *

Ludwig cracked an eye open upon hearing the voice of the Italian. "Good morning," he mumbled. Finding Feliciano in his wasn't as much as a shock to him anymore, so aside from said person being awake before him, his only concern was… "You have clothes on, don't you?"

Before the Italian even had a chance to reply, Ludwig convinced himself that indeed, Feliciano was fully clothed, even though he knew how the Italian liked to be naked (perhaps as much as Francis!), and how many times he found Feliciano curled up beside him, completely devoid of clothing. He then realized just how close the Italian was…and the whole…clinging to him thing. (Nevermind that his arms were curled around the Italian as well!)

He retraced his arms, feeling his cheeks burn. "You can let go now."

"Ve, I'm wearing my underwear, if that's what you want to know!" Feliciano smiled reassuringly at Ludwig – although one had to wonder how _that_ could be considered reassuring for the young man. He indicated towards the end of the bed with his head; his clothes for the day had been left there, albeit quite carelessly. Well, that was nothing new for the Italian, even if Ludwig – and sometimes Roderich, when he was in the room – scolded him for that.

"But I like it this way!" Feliciano did not let go of his friend; if anything, his grip around him tightened and he proceeded to nuzzle the blonde's neck in a sweet, childish manner; he loved doing that. Most people might find it strange because that was the sort of thing they expected Feliciano to only do to cute girls… But it was a way of showing affection.

His skin was so warm… Too warm. He looked over at the German and frowned ever so slightly. His face was a bit red. "Is Ludwig getting sick?"

Ludwig became rigid upon Feliciano's continued contact. It wasn't like he wanted to, it was just that…the Italian was _practically_ naked and pressing against him…and Ludwig didn't know how to react to this. He should have known how to react; he should have been able to predict this too.

Though…he actually didn't mind the nuzzling too much…. "Five minutes," the German relented. He allowed himself to put his arms back around Feliciano and hold him, whilst meticulously watching the digital clock on his nightstand. He was grateful that Roderich was facing away from him, sleeping still—or at least appeared to be. This situation was embarrassing, and would be, even if Feliciano had been Felician_a_.

"Aww, but Ludwig…!" Feliciano groaned in a childish manner. Really, his friend was a bit uptight and always worried about schedules and such things; he was too young to forget how to live life to the fullest. He scooted even closer to the blond, if that was physically possible, enjoying every last minute he had before he was forced to leave the bed and get ready for class – or before Roderich decided to get up and lecture them about their "inappropriate behaviours".

"Doesn't this feel nice?" He asked in a singsong manner, grinning drowsily like the fool he was. He felt just about ready to go back to sleep, but was quickly reminded that his time was probably up – and after grudgingly letting go of Ludwig and looking over at the clock, he noticed that indeed, it had been five minutes. He sighed in a disappointed manner and moved to get up… Until he remembered something very important!

"Ve, I almost forgot!" In a fraction of second, Feliciano had turned around and kissed his friend on the cheek – and perhaps a bit too close to the young man's lips than he had planned. It only lasted a couple of seconds, before the Italian jumped out of the bed, stretching lazily while inhaling and exhaling deeply. A few moments later, he made his way towards the end of the bed and began to get dressed; he would shower at the end of the day.

Ludwig froze when Feliciano kissed him. So close to his…what was that idiot thinking?! That…that… The German's brain temporarily shut down, unable to cope with all that he felt now. He didn't mind it, no…he just hated the way it made his chest ache and his cheeks burn. It was incomprehensible to him why this phenomenon occurred.

He sat up in bed and slicked his hair back with his hand. It always fell around his face in disarray when he slept, and it drove him insane. Hell, it even bothered him to have a _single_ hair out of place. He got out of bed and gathered his toiletries from a cabinet in his desk and a firmly pressed uniform from his closet. His perfectionism wouldn't allow him to _not_ bathe twice daily.

He went to the bathroom and showered thoroughly and proceeded to dress, brush his teeth (he would have to brush his teeth again after breakfast as well), fix his hair by applying copious amounts of hair gel and combing it through until each hair was firmly in place.

He returned from the bathroom and wasn't surprised to find that the Italian was still in his room. For some reason, he never wanted to leave. After returning his toiletries to their proper place and making his bed, he looked to his friend. "Are you ready to go to breakfast?"

* * *

Lovino woke up in an empty room. Strange. Usually, Feliciano would be pouncing on him and yelling to try to wake him up. His brows knitted, as he recalled the night before. He vaguely recalled his little brother wanting _something_, but Lovino has been too tired to want to listen. Well, even if he had been wide awake he probably wouldn't have listened. On further recollection, he remembered the agitation he'd felt when Feliciano tried to get in his bed. He had growled '_vaffanculo__**' **_and pushed him off the bed. Well, it served the idiot right.

Though seeing as his brother wasn't here now, he probably went to that _stronzo di patata_'s room. Damn it! He threw his blanket aside in aggravation and got out of bed. Unfortunately, he had stepped on an empty can of tomato paste he'd neglected to put in the trash from the day before. Or maybe the day before that. "_Mannaggia__**!" **_He sat back down on his bed and clutched his foot as pain seared through it. Luckily the lid was in the bottom of the can, so he wasn't bleeding, but _still_. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He reached for the can and threw it across the room in anger, then once his foot stopped hurting, he got dressed and ready for the day. After, he stormed down the hall and banged on the Spaniard's door, having no regard to the roommate or any of the nearby students. "Antonio! _ Testa di cazzo! _Open the fucking door!"

Antonio had begun to think of Lovino and all the things they had done ever since they had met so many years before. He remembered being disappointed because he could not play with Feliciano - the boy was much cuter than his hot-headed brother! -, but he eventually grew out of it, for the most part. Lovino was very different from his brother, at least in personality – and while at first he had seen it as a bad thing, he had realized that Lovi was just one of a kind, and he wouldn't live quite the same way without him around.

His thoughts continued to centre on Lovino, but he eventually began to think of tortoises. Cute little things, they were and-

What was that?

Antonio was slightly startled by the loud banging on his bedroom door, but quickly got over it and stood up to open it. The words that followed such an unpleasant noise identified the person on the other side as Lovino – oh, perhaps he was jealous of the tortoises! He had been thinking about the young man for so long and it seemed as if he would not show up; it was only when he thought of the little creatures that he appeared.

Antonio smiled to himself, dismissing his own silly little idea. He opened the door as calmly as ever, flashing the Italian that absent-minded smile of his and motioned for him to enter the room, which only he had been occupying. Heracles had gotten up surprisingly early and gone outside; something about thinking of Plato's life, if Antonio had heard correctly. So thankfully, Lovino's lack of consideration would not be a problem.

"_Calma, calma_, Lovino." He stated calmly. He kept smiling at the young man; it was as if he did not have a single worry in the world – and it was quite possibly that he didn't; Antonio had the emotional range of a tomato. He noticed that the boy was a bit flushed and couldn't help but to chuckle. _"¿Que pasó, Lovi? ¡Estás tan rojo como un tomate!"_

"_Sta' zitto_!" Lovino snapped. He let himself into the room and plopped down on Antonio's bed, with no regard to the Spaniard. He leaned back against the pillows, then fluffed them with aggravation. "Your pillows are uncomfortable," he complained. He crossed his arms and stared at the wall, sulking. It wasn't because of the pillows, or the tomato paste can in particular. It was more if, he didn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't pissed off about one thing or another.

After a long moment of silence and glaring, he finally looked at Antonio. If the bastard said one more thing about his face—! _Dio_! Why did Antonio always have to be so annoying…with that smiling face…and saying weird things…and always being so _nice_. It seemed unnatural! "Go get me food. I'm hungry."

Antonio closed the door to his room so that he could lean against it. He was still smiling, even as Lovino invaded his bed, misplaced the pillows and wrinkled his sheets, all the while sulking like a child. He used to feel bad whenever the boy began to act in such a way, but he had eventually gotten used to it and it almost seemed funny – even if Lovi always tried to hurt him if he dared voice that opinion. He would never change; neither of the two would.

Instead of walking over to the bed, sit down and comfort the lad, he turned his attention towards the window, distracted by what little he could see of that beautiful scenery. He remained silent and did not notice as Lovino turned towards him, at least not right away; but at some point, the boy's intense gaze reached the Spaniard's short attention span and he tilted his head in the Italian's general direction and blinked. He had demanded some food.

"¡_Pero_ Lovi!" He began, finally stepping away from the door and moving towards the boy, whose cheek he rested a hand on. He studied his features like he had done countless times before, from his big, bright eyes to the lips curved in slight displeasure, that pointy little nose and his red, red face. Strands of hair fell down his forehead and he followed them until he was looking at that one strand of curly brown hair; he felt tempted to tug at it softly, but he knew that Lovino would never allow him to do such a thing. He never did.  
Antonio wondered why.

He must have been studying the boy for a while there before he finally descended into reality and decided to complete his statement. "We must have breakfast together. I don't want to go alone!" He was still smiling, event though he was being honest. He really didn't want to leave Lovino alone. _"¿Por favor?"_

When Antonio touched him, Lovino's first instinct was to slap his hand away. Who gave the Spaniard permission to touch him? No one! But…there was something comforting about the gesture. Antonio's hand felt soft against his cheek, though he knew that it was actually slightly calloused from the Spaniard's love to do things outside. He'd never, ever admit that. It was degrading enough to even think it!

He felt his eyes get droopy…That bastard! He was trying to lull him into a false sense of security and sleep while he violated his erogenous zone! Lovino slapped Antonio's hand away. "Jackass, don't speak Spanish to me." He understood what the Spaniard said to him for the most part, but he refused to acknowledge it.

He yawned and sat up. "Fine, I'll sit with you, dumb ass, but you gotta get my food for me." Without waiting for…dare he say it, his friend, Lovino walked out of the dorm room and headed downstairs and outside, toward the cafeteria.

* * *

Francis woke up on time thanks to his alarm clock. He sat up in his bed and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't slept too well, but if anyone asked, he slept fabulously, thank you! He dragged himself out of bed and looked at himself in the mirror. Gah! He looked hideous! He quickly proceeded to get ready, whilst taking care to not damage his hair or anything catastrophic like that. He needed a strong cup of coffee badly, but he wouldn't be able to leave his room until he was certain he looked at lovely as ever. Of course, it didn't take him long.

He made his way to the cafeteria for a large cup of coffee and a croissant. He needed his energy today—he had a nice little surprise for Arthur. That is, when it arrived. At the thought of it, he found himself antsy with anticipation. It would be amazing!

Alfred could _sense_ the exact moment Arthur entered the cafeteria. He felt his blood drain, and much worse, his food lost its taste! Why did he have to ruin everything?! _That…That bastard! He's always doing this, always trying to dictate everything I do! Damn it!_ Alfred was determined to not let the Englishman control his actions. No. He could do damn well whatever he pleased!

He shoveled the rest of his food, even though it all tasted like cardboard now at best. He chugged the rest of his orange juice to wash it down, then saw his roommate staring at him oddly. "…Something wrong?"

Kiku shook his head fervently, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring. He was trying to understand Alfred, but he was just too confusing. Fine one minute, the next consumed in an internal rage. It almost reminded him of Arthur in a way, but only slightly. He wondered if it would be ok to ask what was bothering him. It wouldn't hurt, he supposed. "Are you alright? You look…troubled."

"What? No, no, I'm fine!" Alfred replied loudly and much, much too quickly. "I'm just fine! I've never been better. This food is just so good I couldn't help but eating it all," he added, laughing awkwardly.

He looked over his shoulder for a moment. Actually seeing the Englishman made him feel worse, just like it had yesterday. Ugh. Maybe he should just kick Arthur's ass and get it over with. Fighting had always solved his problems in the past. And it was much better than this ignoring thing Arthur was bent on doing.

He noticed the asshole was sitting with someone familiar. Who was that? He then couldn't help but staring, noticing this person had physical similarities in common with him. What was Arthur getting at? He hated Alfred so he was going after his long-lost twin? The nerve!

Alfred was tempted to go over to that table and save that person who _must_ be his brother from the Englishman. It was his heroic duty to do so, too. But…he had a stomach ache now. So he turned back and looked down at his own table. Heroic duty would have to wait.

Kiku watched Alfred. He had not known the American very long, so he wasn't sure what exactly it was that was bothering him. Aside from that, Western expressions were confusing to him. They revealed way too much! He was certain though, that whatever it was, it had something to do with Arthur. Despite being so curious, he kept his questions to himself.

* * *

Arthur could not believe that the imbecile had decided to _stare_ at him and Matthew. Had he nothing better to do, oh, say, to just _go away_?

He sighed. His breakfast didn't seem all to appealing all of a sudden; in fact, it looked as if it was poking out its imaginary tongue at Arthur and the blond could not help repress the urge to stab the middle of the plate as if it would make things any better. He decided to turn his attention to Matthew, who seemed to have noticed that something was off, but decided to be quiet and simply eat. As he looked at the boy then, he noticed that he and Alfred did look a lot alike – physically speaking, anyway. It made the Englishman feel a bit strange, but he ignored it and decided to concentrate on what the boy was saying.

"Did you know Alfred is representing our class in the student board?" Matthew asked. He didn't really know what else to say, and Arthur had been looking at the other boy for a while… Perhaps they did not know each other and he was curious.

"Yes, I know. I am the student council president, Matthew."

"Oh! I'm sorry, I just…"

"It's quite alright."

Arthur was a bit irked at being reminded of such a thing, but he managed to hide it; it wasn't as if he could blame Matthew. He was new, after all.  
He felt tempted to look over at Alfred once again. He did that, and for a fleeting moment he felt something nice, which almost made him want to go there and _hug him hold him keep him for myself_. Thankfully, Matthew's voice brought him back to reality.

"Oh, look… Bonjour, Francis!" Mathieu waved at the Frenchman as he saw him enter the cafeteria – and really, unless Francis could read lips that gesture was the only greeting he would understand; Matthew barely spoke loud enough to be heard above the sound of the cutlery.

* * *

Francis didn't see or hear the young Canadian. Had he been fully awake, he might have at least noticed the waving…but he hadn't had his coffee yet, so he wasn't really to blame for not seeing anything. After he pouted himself a large cup of coffee and got his croissant and jam, he noticed Kiku and Alfred. He hadn't spoken to Kiku since the semester started, so he headed over and sat down at their table. "_Bonjour, mes amis!"_

Alfred looked in alarm to see the Frenchman sitting beside him. Was this whole school full of _ninja_?! That was the only way to explain the fact that so many people had snuck up on him! Surely it couldn't be that he zoned everything out so frequently that it was inevitable! "Uh, g'morning Francis."

Kiku sipped his tea and murmured a greeting in return and returned to eating his porridge.

Francis buttered and jammed his croissant, noticing in the corner of his eye that Mathieu had been sitting nearby with Arthur. _Oh well_. Had he noticed earlier, he probably wouldn't have gone over there still, simply because the Englishman had been sitting there _first_. "So~! Kiku, how was your vacation?"

Kiku was quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words. 'It was pleasant. I stayed at home with my family for the most part, though I did travel across the country to visit various shines and temples. And you?"

Francis really didn't need to travel, his country had everything—good wine, good food, beautiful people, and a wide range of climates! Still, traveling was something he liked to do. "I visited with some friends in _la Côte d'Azur_," Francis said, sipping on his coffee. "I also visited Antonio." That had been fun. Lovino had been over at the same time and had kept shrieking and running away, inevitably into a wall. "As well as Arthur, but the weather at his house is so dreary I had to leave early." He glanced over at the American, to see if how he reacted to the mentioning of Arthur. Unfortunately, it was only an almost unnoticeable grimace. "Which reminds me, Alfred, during winter break, I usually hold a party at my house. It's very lavish and grand, you can ask Kiku. While it's on my mind, I'm personally inviting you to it. Anyone who is anyone will be going." Although it was a few months off, the Frenchman was already planning meticulously. (He was always planning something, usually multiple things at once, like he was now.)

Alfred glanced over at Kiku, whose face remained placid when Francis mentioned his parties. He'd have to talk him about it later. Alfred loved parties, but to go to one all the way in France? The idea sounded amazing but… "I don't know, it's kind of a long trip to go to a party at your house for just a day," he said, thinking off the insanely long plane flights and layovers.

"I considered that a long time ago," Francis replied. He wasn't an idiot, after all. No one who lived far away wouldn't want to do all that traveling for only a day in France! "My parties, _chéri_, usually last between four days to a week." It sounded like a long time, but when different events were planned carefully, as well as allowing ample time for shopping and sightseeing, it wasn't bad at all.

Alfred's eyes widened. A week! That would be amazing. Until this week, he hadn't traveled out of the States…in a long time. Not since… His face scrunched up in distaste. "What about…?"

As if psychic, Francis replied, "_Quoi_? It will all be amazing, don't worry. Arthur won't be there, too, so your fun won't be spoiled." Of course, he planned on telling the Englishman the same thing when the time came. Until then, however, he'd give Arthur other things to worry about.

How did Francis know…? Then he remembered the whole student council thing. Arthur and Francis probably spoke a lot… "That sounds cool then. I'll see if I can go."

* * *

Matthew was thoroughly disappointed as he watched Francis sit down by his classmate, Alfred, and another boy he did not know; he was the only other person at school he had met who was nice and actually spoke French, even if there was a significant difference in the way each of them had learnt it.  
Granted, he seemed to not have noticed him or Arthur, but Matthew still could not help but to feel a bit sad about it. Oh well. _C'est la vie._

"Should we go sit next to them, eh?" He suddenly asked his companion. Arthur looked downright appalled by such suggestion.

"_Absolutely not_." He replied coldly as he took a sip from his tea. He would not degrade himself by sitting with Francis _and_ Alfred; if Matthew wanted to go, then by all means he should go, but Arthur Kirkland would do no such thing.

Matthew did not leave, however. He decided to stay with Arthur; after all, it was rude to trade his company for that of other people for no reason at all. He looked at said Englishman and was about to ask him something when he realized that his gaze was fixed on Alfred… But he looked as if he was distant; daydreaming, even.

Alfred had made a simple gesture and Arthur had been a fool to look at him again.  
He remembered it clearly.

_It had been a long and stressful day. Young Arthur had been assigned several chores and when he finally finished them, he wanted nothing but to sit down under the old oak tree and rest. Read a book, perhaps._

_  
But no._

_  
One of the younger boys had ran up to him and told him of something Alfred had done, something nasty. Arthur had immediately set off to find the younger boy and demand an explanation – and an explanation he did get, but it soon escalated into an argument about Alfred's lack of manners and general (mis)behaviour. _

_  
By dinner time, neither of them had made a move to speak to one another, and for the first time in all the years they had spent together, Alfred had sat down with the other children. It nearly broke young Arthur's heart to be ignored in such a way, even if he somewhat deserved it. He felt sick and could barely eat, but did so anyway because it was wrong to waste perfectly good food._

_  
Everything had returned to normal the next day, and both of them seemed to forget about the event._

But _one simple gesture_ was enough to remind Arthur of that childhood memory and how badly he had felt back then.

Except there was a great difference between "back then" and "right now": things would not be back to normal any time soon. No; that was too much to ask.

The Englishman felt his food making its way back up his esophagus.  
He immediately excused himself, stood up and ran out of the cafeteria, leaving a dumbfounded Matthew behind and the impression that he had suddenly gone mad, in the atmosphere. He headed towards the nearest boys' room and placed his hands on either side of a sink, leaning over it as he looked at himself in the mirror; he looked paler than usual and the corners of his eyes were bloodshot. His stomach had decided to settle down for the time being, but he still felt like crying his pretty green eyes out.

Curse him. Curse Alfred. Curse Francis. Curse his _bloody life_.

Arthur sighed. He just needed to wash his face, was all.  
… Somehow he wasn't being very convincing.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the cafeteria, Matthew simply stared in the direction Arthur had left off in, wondering what was wrong, before he too stood up - well, there was really no point in staying in the cafeteria when he had already eaten, now, was there? He could go after Arthur, but it was wiser to simply leave him be and do something else instead.

As he walked past the other group's table, he stopped. "Ah, _bonjour_, Francis." He greeted quietly, smiling softly albeit a bit anxiously. He then looked over at the other two. "Eh, good morning!" He added, just as politely and still smiling.

Alfred fiddled his empty trey. He liked the idea of going to Francis's party…parties were fun…and going to new places was fun…he hadn't been to France before. ..The idea of going there made his stomach ache dissolve. Instead, he was excited. Why did December have to be so far away? He wanted to go now! Having long zoned everyone out, he didn't hear Matthew's greeting.

Francis was pleased that Alfred seemed excited about going to his party. He had so much in store for the American…it was really a shame that it was so far off though. He engaged in conversation with Kiku, only pausing when he heard a familiar angelic voice that wasn't his own. _Mathieu_! "_Bonjour_," he said in response and smiled at the blond. "_Assois-tu, s'il te plaît_!" He said, gesturing to the empty seat by the Canadian. "Of course, you already know Alfred," he said, gesturing to the American. "This is his roommate, Honda Kiku. Kiku, this is Mathieu"

"It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance," Kiku said in his usual polite manner.

"We were just discussing my yearly party I hold at my house every winter break. Surely you'd like to come too?" Francis smiled at him sweetly.

Alfred looked up from his trey when he heard his name. He saw his 'twin' standing at their table. Matthew, was it? Oh…oh yeah, had he been in his class for at least a moment yesterday? Huh…Wait! If Matthew was here…He looked back at the table the Canadian had been sitting at before. Where was Arthur? Did Matthew ditch him and he had left or something else? He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter, he didn't care. Yet he couldn't get the thought out of his head.

… He just couldn't. And out of no where, a thought occurred to him. _Arthur didn't have friends. _ The only friend Arthur had ever had….was him. Alfred felt an unexplainable tinge of guilt. He had nothing to be guilty for though! It wasn't _his_ fault that Arthur was an insufferable asshole no one could stand being around! No…it wasn't his fault at all! He hadn't done anything wrong.

He knew he hadn't. It was all Arthur's fault. His fault that things were the way they were now. Yet…he couldn't shake the feeling off. His previous feeling of euphoria and excitement drained away and he felt worse than before.

"Alfred?" Kiku looked at his roommate with concern. Had Alfred eaten too much? His face was turning a tinge of green…

"No…I….need….go…." He strung words together nonsensically, then abruptly got up and ran out of the cafeteria. He needed fresh air. Fast. He needed to forget. Why wouldn't his heart let him forget? He shouldn't have come here…he could have stayed home and attended the local high school like everyone else. But no, he had to come here to be a goddamn _hero_. And _he_ had to be here…."Fuck!" He found himself leaning against the side a large oak tree, breathing deeply. He needed to find a way to not let the Englishman bother him so much. He came here to be a hero, and heroes didn't let their archenemies have so much control over them!

* * *

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